


the miracle came with a pop

by dorypop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Lily Evans Potter, Child Neglect, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Horcrux Hunting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lily Evans Potter Lives, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), POV Lily Evans Potter, POV Severus Snape, Time Travel Fix-It, but i also intend to make this a koala!harry fic, i do intend to make this very angsty, koala!harry potter, lily for president, petter pettigrew appears for like a second, there's a lockhart cameo too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 52,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21573742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorypop/pseuds/dorypop
Summary: “The cupboard under the stairs?” she read, puzzled. She distinctly remembered her own letter being addressed to The Left Bed In The Second Room To The Right, back when Tuney and her had shared space and dreams and a sisterly love that she still sometimes missed.“What?” She heard Sirius croak, behind her. He’d been occupied glaring at Severus and also glaring at Peter’s still body. When Lily glanced at him, she discovered he seemed to be in a bigger shock than hers. Perhaps, she thought, his death had been more gruesome than her own, and he needed more time to process it."What do you mean?” Minerva asked, but the child kept retreating and she stopped before approaching him.“That’s why it’s mine!” he repeated, and caressed the envelope carefully, like he wanted to erase the rumples with his blackened nails.(or: the one Time Travel AU where several parental figures in Harry's life plus Harry himself (aged 11) travel back in time to the Marauder's Era. Featuring koala!Harry and a very bitter Severus Snape)
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & James Potter, Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Regulus Black & Severus Snape, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 623
Kudos: 1749
Collections: Harry Potter Fic, My amazing all time favourites., RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. Chapter 1

The miracle came with a _pop_. Similar to those made at disapparating, but not quite. It wasn’t just magic—it was more. She didn’t realise how much at first—she got distracted by the echo of her own screams, hovering around her empty arms, coming from a future that felt like the past. She got distracted by the absence of childish cries and by the sudden smell, like old books, of the Transfiguration classroom—how had she never noticed that before?

She got distracted by the _pop_ and the gasps around her and by the dizziness of her memories adjusting and so she didn’t realise, at first, what she was looking at.

She saw a child, and she saw Albus Dumbledore approaching said child with a half smile, and she saw Minerva McGonagall cover her mouth with her hands.

She saw Severus Snape with a face too young to be despised and she saw her husband gaping at her with the same incredulous expression her former friend was wearing.

She saw Peter Pettigrew trying to creep away through the back door and she brandished her wand in a fierce _Stupefy_ , barely restraining herself from causing more damage.

Peter cast a _Protego_ , but she kept flailing curses and hexes and waving her wand until way after the rat was unconscious, showing goat legs and a swollen neck.

By the time James caught her arm, she had forgotten all about the _pop_ and the child and she finally let herself deflate and cry and be hugged. She remembered having hugged Harry like James was hugging her. She remembered having died and having left her baby alone, defenceless in front of a monster.

Yet she didn’t understand the miracle when she saw the child retreating from Dumbledore’s soft questions.

“Is that your Hogwarts letter, my boy?”

And it was—Lily could see now, because the child was clutching and wrinkling it behind his back and she could just about make the curly calligraphy on the yellowing parchment.

“It’s mine!” the child cried, and he took another step back and he was suddenly _just_ in front of Lily.

“The cupboard under the stairs?” she read, puzzled. She distinctly remembered her own letter being addressed to The Left Bed In The Second Room To The Right, back when Tuney and her had shared space and dreams and a sisterly love that she still sometimes missed.

“What?” She heard Sirius croak, behind her. He’d been occupied glaring at Severus and also glaring at Peter’s still body. When Lily glanced at him, she discovered he seemed to be in a bigger shock than hers. Perhaps, she thought, his death had been more gruesome than her own, and he needed more time to process it.

“What do you mean?” Minerva asked, but the child kept retreating and she stopped before approaching him.

“That’s why it’s mine!” he repeated, and caressed the envelope carefully, like he wanted to erase the rumples with his blackened nails.

Lily had yet to learn the child’s name, for it had been obscured by a crease of the fold on the envelope, but she wiped her tears with her uniform robe and kneeled slowly in front of him.

“Is that where you sleep? In a cupboard under the stairs?” she asked, cautiously. Not unlike she’d have asked Severus, years ago, where all the bruises and cuts came from.

She felt James’ hand on her shoulder, but didn’t pay him any mind.

The child narrowed his big eyes, made even bigger by a somewhat awry pair of glasses, but he finally nodded.

“And why is that? Do you live in a very small house?”

He pressed his lips together and went back to look at the letter, without answering her.

“Nonsense!” Severus exclaimed, making the child flinch. Remus put himself between them and Severus glared and glared, until his eyes crossed paths with Lily’s and then he accepted his defeat in shame.

Lily would have wanted to ponder that, but she looked back at the child, who was now hugging the unopened letter against his chest. She then realised he was wearing nothing but rags, and too big at that, and it was her turn to narrow her eyes, because a child of eleven shouldn’t be so short and tiny and small.

“If the letter is addressed to you—,” she began.

“It is!” the boy interrupted.

Lily nodded.

“Then it’s yours,” she sentenced.

The child opened his mouth as if to retort, but he then seemed to realise she was agreeing with him and nodded back. He sighed and used his enormous sleeve to wipe some sweat from his brow. Lily bit her lip not to ask him how he’d gotten the big scar he sported on his forehead.

“Mate? What happened to make you get that scar?” James didn’t share her sense of caution, apparently. She scoffed and was vaguely aware that Sirius kept making weird noises, as if he was childishly trying to steal their attention from this boy, who obviously needed it more than a grownup who couldn’t keep still for a minute.

“Perhaps it’s a _private_ matter, don’t you think, _honey_?” she muttered, emphasizing on the pet name they only used when they were trying to make a point.

“Uh? No, it’s not. It’s from when my parents died,” the kid said, getting a chorus of sighs as a response. He eyed all of them suspiciously and seemed to tense, as if waiting for the follow-up question. Which, inevitably, was posed by Lily’s quite obtuse husband.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, mate. How did they die?”

“Perhaps, honey, he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Lily reminded him. She certainly wouldn’t want to talk about her own parents’ death to any stranger that suddenly appeared in front of her.

“Car accident,” the boy said. He tried to wipe his hands on his rolled-up jeans, but was interrupted by Severus’ loud sneer and Sirius’ failed attempt, because Remus snatched his robe, to spring at the boy in the middle of a rather colourful string of curses.

“Sirius, mind your _language_ ,” Remus said. But the boy looked nonplussed, and not even a bit afraid or bothered by the situation, which was another bell ringing in Lily’s already full of bells’ head.

“So who do you live with, then, sweetheart? Grandparents, perhaps?”

“Never met them. I live with my aunt’s family.”

Lily was about to ask him if his aunt was a witch, because his attitude seemed to point to it but it didn’t quite match with the car accident bit, but Minerva was faster.

“And what is the cupboard thing about? You like playing inside it? Is that why you stay there most of the time?”

“That’s probably all there is,” Dumbledore nodded, folding his hands and hiding them inside his long beard.

“I don’t like it, but Dudley’s got two bedrooms and the other one is for when Aunt Marge comes to visit, so there wasn’t any more space for me. Not that I’d like to stay with Aunt Marge when she comes—she’s got this big dog that is damn awful.”

“Language,” Remus repeated, more softly this time.

“You don’t like dogs?” Sirius seemed completely deflated, distracting Lily from something the boy had said that she knew ought to have alerted her.

“Well, I don’t like _her_ dog, nor her. Haven’t met any other dogs. The lady from Number Fourteen has two, but she doesn’t let me come close to them because Aunt Petunia once told her I and not Dudley had been the one to jump on her flowerbeds. Which are _ugly_ , by the way. Mrs. Figgs’ cats are alright, I suppose.”

“Your aunt’s name is Petunia?” James asked, crouching next to Lily and reminding her how to breathe.

“No,” Lily muttered. The boy didn’t answer. He kept eyeing them both through his crooked glasses, with all the seriousness of a portrait of an uncle of James that had died as a child that hung in the sun room in Potter Manor.

“Petunia Dursley, right? And Dudley is her son, and they live in Surrey, and they keep you in a cupboard under the stairs?”

“James.” Lily could see the child was starting to cower from them, probably afraid because he didn’t know. He didn’t know, and Petunia had told him she’d died in a car accident, and this was her baby who had been alive long enough to receive his Hogwarts letter. Lily swallowed the sob because this wasn’t about her. “Don’t worry,” she said, very softly, addressing Harry. “Don’t worry—you won’t have to go back to that cupboard or to Petunia’s house, ever again. We know her, but we won’t let her hurt you, okay?”

Harry was listening, she knew, but he didn’t move.

“Your name’s Harry, right?” James asked. Lily saw he was crying.

“Did Petunia tell you anything about it?” She pointed at the letter, and Harry was quick to hide it behind his back once more. “That means you’re a wizard—it’s your letter of acceptance to a magic school.”

“Magic isn’t real. Everybody knows that,” Harry said, very quietly, and Lily was reminded of the very similar words she had once uttered to Severus.

“No, Harry. Magic _is_ real. And miracles are, too, because I died and I left you but somehow I am here with you.”

“What do you mean, you _died_?”

“I’m so, so very sorry.” Lily had to stop speaking because she was suffocating. She wanted nothing more than reach into the space that kept her apart from her child and embrace him to never let go. But she couldn’t do that, because Harry was not a baby anymore, and he didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to frighten him. So she kept still, willing herself to regain her breath so she could tell him she was his mother and how much she and James loved him.

“What for?”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, coming closer to them. The rest of the people in the room kept their distance. “Harry, these are your parents, Lily and James Potter. Lily is your aunt’s younger sister, and she’s also a witch.” The Headmaster’s voice was as calm and grandfatherly as always, but Lily couldn’t help to see a sharp edge to it. Why hadn’t he cared for her child, the way he’d promised her he would? Why had her Harry ended up with someone as petty as Petunia, without anyone intervening to prevent her from mistreating her child?

“Hi, Harry,” James said, and offered him his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry took it.

“You are not dead, then?”

Lily sobbed and opened her arms, in hopes Harry would take her offer and accept her hug. He looked at her curiously, as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“I don’t know yet what caused this magic, but I’m going to find out and make sure it stays this way, so that you don’t have to be alone ever again, Harry. I promise,” she said.

“Mum?” Harry asked, very timidly. She nodded, with her arms still wide open.

She noted Harry was heavier than she had expected, when he finally plummeted onto her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm yeah I'm back! I know last chapter was a bit confusing, so I hope the timelines get a bit better established on this one!

Right after the _pop_ , Severus had been too busy chasing those green eyes from his mind to bother recognising the owner of said eyes, reduced to the size he was when he first arrived at Hogwarts. It was quite confusing, after all, finding yourself perfectly alive when you had already died and made peace with it. Therefore, he needed a full minute to understand that he had somehow travelled back in time, because he also had the strange notion of the pop having interrupted a quite heated scolding Minerva McGonagall was giving him, when she was still his professor—in regards to certain Gryffindor cretins who, he _knew_ , were very much dead.

Not that Lily was a cretin. Factually, she was a quite _magnificent_ witch, for by the time Severus had managed to get a trembly grip on what—he assumed—was what was going on, she had managed to defuse that buffoon Peter Pettigrew and was otherwise occupied making friends with this dwarf version of Harry Bloody Potter. The child was sputtering nonsense about his sleeping arrangements and Lily had yet to catch up and realise who she was talking to.

In Severus’ best nights, when the nightmares allowed him a minute of respite and he had time to make amends with Lily before seeing her dead body once and again, he was alone with her and had her full attention when he tried to apologize for his long list of character faults. He sometimes managed to apologize in front of her idiotic husband, or Albus Dumbledore, or even the Dark Lord himself. It didn’t matter, anyway, because when Severus woke up she was irremediably still dead, so it hardly mattered who was in attendance for his humiliation.

Now, however, they were immersed in a situation Severus had not managed to anticipate—Lily was there, alive and looking young in her school robes. She didn’t seem willing to listen to what he had to say, as he had learn to expect. But now her spawn was here too, looking all confused and uttering things like that magic was not real. Just like his mother, back when he’d been the one to tell her she was a witch.

Severus understood, then. He had somehow been given a second chance—one he didn’t especially want because he had already been awarded a few extra chances he had never earned or deserved. But he’d go ahead with it, if it meant Lily got to live. He just wasn’t going to stick around for the sobbing part, when the little, happy family cried and wept over their ruined lives. He was also the only Slytherin in the room, and they had already disposed of the other Death Eater present, so he nodded to himself, with the firm purpose to seek Lily later and offer her everything he had, and turned to leave.

Minerva called for him before he reached the door.

“May I have a word, Severus?” she asked. She was still taller than him, as she’d been when he’d actually been fifteen. She was also wearing a pointy hat that, Severus only then noticed, she had stopped wearing by the time she had chased him away from Hogwarts.

Severus was not very keen on providing any form of entertainment to the casual onlookers, who could deem the Potter Family Reunion old news any minute, and would then open their ears to whatever Minerva was so very clearly itching to say, but for some reason he stopped and listened. It may have been because they had both always played the parts they’d been assigned with a certain dignity that nearly everyone else at Hogwarts lacked.

“You may.”

Minerva nodded, and to Severus’ consternation, she awkwardly patted his forearm. Severus was too engaged in sceptically eyeing the affected area to properly acknowledge her next words.

“I’m very sorry, Severus, for the way I have treated you in the past,” she solemnly said, to what Severus blinked. He took his arm away.

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he said, before turning and leaving without a glance in Albus’ direction or another stolen glimpse of Lily’s renewed happiness.

The corridor outside the Transfiguration classroom looked exactly the same as it had looked when Severus had entered said classroom twenty-three minutes or years earlier. That savant Dirk Cresswell was even shagging Amaryllis Arlington around the corner—funny how neither of them seemed preoccupied by the certainty they would both be killed in gruesome ways. Or perhaps, Severus thought, that was the reason why they were so flummoxed by each other.

Severus would have hardly found the volition in himself to stop them even if he _had_ cared, and after all he was not a professor anymore, so he simply walked by them without the passionate couple being any wiser.

He had actually planned to do the same with everyone else he encountered, because he wasn’t in the particular mood required to exchange pleasantries, but he wasn’t expecting to find Regulus Black very much alive, reading a heavy tome below a portrait of a knight in armour, who seemed as equally engrossed in Regulus’ reading as Regulus himself.

“Educating the troops?” he asked, making the portrait scoff and leave on his horse.

Regulus looked up. Severus took a breath because looking at him hurt almost as much as looking at Lily had.

“Heard you were in trouble for maiming my dear brother’s friend’s dignity.” Regulus spoke with a bored tone that made Severus grow goosebumps. Regulus had been his friend more or less the same amount of time Lily had. Funny how the three of them had been killed by the same man.

“As if that vermin had any.” He kneeled next to Regulus to better look at his grey eyes. Regulus allowed it, even though he was said to have betrayed the Dark Lord before Severus’ own change of mind. Regulus should therefore not be trusting him so openly. “Heard you were in trouble for angering _him_ ,” Severus whispered.

“Him, who?”

Severus was not about to sprout “the Dark Lord, of course”, not even for the sake of keeping a rapidly dying conversation from its doomed fate. So he allowed Regulus to go back to his book while he tried to ponder his mind for something to say that didn’t involve Legilimency —not that it’d work, as Regulus would have been provided with basic Occlumency skills by his paranoic parents— and that would make Regulus tell him who he supported in a war that had apparently not started yet.

But he couldn’t plainly just ask, and he couldn’t talk about his own affiliations, so he just stared at a knobbly-looking patch on the stone wall in front of him until his brain caught up and he jerked.

“Forgot to send an owl home?” Regulus asked, calmly turning a page. Severus scoffed. Neither him nor Regulus ever sent owls home, though Regulus did get Howlers from time to time. Walburga Black’s lungs were even healthier when she was alive than when her portrait welcomed every newcomer at Twelve Grimmauld Place.

“What would I even tell on a letter home?”

“Dunno. How wonderfully you’re getting on with our dear fellow Gryffindors?”

A first-year Hufflepuff who Severus vaguely remembered having taught Potions on her last year at Hogwarts passed just by them, blowing into her reddened fingers to heat them. She didn’t even spare a glance at the two Death Eaters sharing a pleasant afternoon with a meddling knight. The weird stone patch turned a bit darker for a second just after she’d passed by.

“Regulus?”

“Hm?”

“How did you die?”

Regulus paused. Then, he laughed.

“Sometimes I think you should pursue a career in comedy, Snape.” He stood up and put his book away on his expensive bag. He turned on his heel and left, not before politely saying goodbye to the knight, who waved at him with a certain air of disappointment. Severus could relate.

“He doesn’t remember, does he?” Sirius Black said, when he broke his Disillusionment charm.

Severus stood up, and his gangly teenaged limbs reminded him of a context he was finding very difficult to forget.

“Would you rather he remember how terribly pleasant his death most definitely was?”

Black grimaced. Severus refrained from asking why he’d followed him, because he could appreciate how very exhausting it must have been not to surrender to the need to say something infuriating to his brother.

“Dumbledore said this might happen.”

“ _This,_ ” Severus repeated, feeling rather disconnected.

“He suggested we said we’d all got detention for the prank thing, to justify our gatherings and stuff.” Black was waving his hand around as if he was including Severus in whatever primitives forms of communication he was used to share with his herd of feckless friends.

Horrified by that single thought, Severus took a step back.

“What _gatherings_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually my first time writing Snape, so I thought it would be extremely difficult. Imagine my surprise when I realised all you have to do is open a synonym dictionary and keep searching for variations of the word 'idiot'.


	3. Chapter 3

Lily kept wanting to catch James’ eyes, to wordlessly ask him if he was as bewildered as she felt by the fact their toddler son was tall enough to reach her chest. But James had yet to open his eyes—glasses askew and a dreamy smile was all she could see of him, as he had rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and was content to just breathe in sync with him.

Lily would have been happy to do just that, too, because now that he thought of it Harry was breathing quite hastily and she wanted nothing more than to soothe him and caress his face and beg him to please do everything in his hand to try and be as happy as possible. But of course she couldn’t abandon herself to that. She was a mother and that meant she had responsibilities—namely, making sure nothing came unexpectedly to threaten her child’s happiness. As it had happened last time, when she’d been too distracted putting him to bed to fight the monster who came and murdered her husband.

So she kept an eye on James and her arms around Harry and her ears well trained on the room. And that’s how she caught Severus sneaking away and Minerva looking quite aghast after speaking briefly to him.

If she hadn’t had her baby boy clutching fiercely to her robes, she might have gone after her former friend, because her mind was a bit confused still and she couldn’t shake the notion of wanting to help him. She’d actually come here that day only to defend him from her idiot classmates.

It was just disorienting trying to separate both realities in her head—being fifteen and ready to tell McGonagall to just pull the most awful form of punishment she knew of in both Severus _and_ the self-called Marauders so they’d stop this ridiculous hex war once and for all, and at the same time being freshly betrayed by the one she thought her friend, with her child’s screams and that horrid laugh still ringing by her ears.

She wanted to talk to Severus because some things were just not adding up. But she wasn’t about to leave Harry to do it, so she just stored the idea for later reviewing in the back of her already filled to the brim mind and set herself to the task of _understanding_ what was going on.

Why, for instance, was Sirius not shouting and yelling in rage, or sending jinxes in Severus’ direction.

Why was Sirius _hesitating_ to join James and her?

“Care to explain, Sirius, why isn’t this letter addressed to wherever doss-house you’re currently living in?” she asked, sweetly covering her fury with a fake smile, her head vaguely pointing to the envelope Harry was still clutching, now hidden under James’ robes.

Sirius choked and gulped. Lily felt Harry tense, probably in reaction to the sudden change in the atmosphere of the room. She took a second to caress his mop of dirty hair, shaking James awake at the same time. She would have been _mad_ if he’d fallen asleep in such circumstances.

“I’m sure something must have happened, right, Sirius?” James tentatively smiled. Always ready to defend his loyal bunch of friends, who had turned out to be hosting the biggest traitor in the world.

Lily didn’t care about promises made in school. She cared about keeping her child safe.

James seemed to read her mood—he dropped the smile and the hand he still had on Harry’s shredded T-shirt. And of course Harry felt that and deepened his hug on her—he was grabbing her with all the strength he had, as if afraid someone was going to come and rip them apart. A very reasonable fear to have for a child of eleven, if Sirius’ guilt-ridden face was to serve as an indicator.

Lily managed to apply a murmured strengthening charm to her arms and stood up, still holding Harry as if he was the fifteen-month-old baby she remembered.

“There were certain circumstances that—” Remus’ shaky voice was interrupted by Lily’s stare.

“Were they?” she slowly asked, in what she knew was a great imitation of her mother.

“Why, my dear Sirius, don’t you go and follow Severus?” Dumbledore’s tone was probably conceived so that Lily would cower and let things be, but she wouldn’t. She didn’t care about keeping peace, and she didn’t care about James’ relationship with Sirius or Remus or anyone else, really. She had trusted these people to do _one_ thing when she was not able to, and they’d all failed her.

“What? Why _would_ I? Snivellus is probably just whimpering down the corridor or some—” He shut his mouth when he caught up with Lily’s stare.

Dumbledore seized the opportunity to give him something to do.

“Well, unfortunately, it seems likely not everyone else in the world will be affected by our extraordinary circumstances, so we will have to come up with a plan and a cover story for our future gatherings.”

Minerva cleared her throat before speaking.

“What gatherings are these, exactly, Albus?”

“On a second thought, it is quite fortunate, really. Won’t you agree, James dear?” Lily’s husband nodded as if he was dumb. Lily would have punched him had her arms not been busy. “We could say Minerva and I have handed detentions out for all of you. It is rather believable, considering the matter that brought us here today.” He looked at Peter’s unmoving form and Lily took a step away from both of them.

“Right,” said Sirius, but sighed after receiving a nod from Remus and darted towards the door.

He looked defeated, Lily noted, but she didn’t have any more space in her heart to care just then, so she stored that next to her worry about Severus’ behaviour and kept rocking Harry, who didn’t seem to want to get down from her arms any time soon. In fact, he had now laced his legs around her midriff.

Lily made sure his head was safely kept on the space between her shoulder and neck before briskly walking towards the desk closer to the fire and, with an efficient wave of her wand, turning it into a settee that she was sure Petunia would have found completely hideous. It was a very poor form of vengeance, sitting in furniture her sister would’ve despised, but for the time being she put any thoughts about Petunia on hold, too, and made herself comfortable before looking back to the rest of people in the room.

Albus was patiently looking at the fire, the flames reflecting funnily on his glasses. Minerva, after a few seconds of fire contemplation, seemed to deem the activity completely pointless.

“If you don’t need me for now, I’ll take care of this one,” she said, pointing her wand at Peter and making his body float and follow her towards the door, where she cast a Disillusionment charm on him. They all heard how Peter’s body crashed against the doorpost before Minerva made a show of adjusting the direction her wand was pointing to.

James didn’t seem to know what to do with himself before he finally decided to come and stand next to her, as she had not made the sitting big enough for two adults. She didn’t quite regret it—it was _James_ ’ suggestion what made _James_ ’ friends secret keepers. It was _James_ who had failed to keep You-Know-Who at bay. It was _James_ who had been killed first, leaving her all alone to defend Harry.

Lily was angry at her husband because he was close enough to let himself be angry at.

“Should I leave, too?” Remus asked, and Lily felt a sudden surge of love for him. She quickly stifled it, because the fact that he seemed to take her feelings into account didn’t automatically mean she had the mental ability to do the same with his. Peter had turned out to be the traitor, but there could be more than one.

“Of course not,” James said then. Lily didn’t get to analyse how she felt about that because Harry released his death grip on her neck and turned a little to peek at Remus under his unkempt fringe. He never left her lap, though, and she didn’t want him too.

“Where are we?” he muttered, very close to Lily’s ear, after he’d got his fill on looking at both Dumbledore and Remus.

“At Hogwarts. The Transfiguration classroom, actually,” Lily said.

Harry nodded before she had time to explain what Transfiguration was.

“Can I stay here?” he asked, in a very small voice.

Lily was about to assure him that she’d make sure he didn’t go further than she could see when James crouched behind the settee, to speak to Harry at his eye-level.

“Your mum promised,” he reminded him, and he reminded Lily why she had married him. “We won’t ever leave you alone, lad. Not ever again. If you can’t stay here, we’ll go somewhere else with you, alright?”

Harry breathed in and then out and in once more, and only then he nodded and put his head back on Lily’s shoulder. Lily started rubbing circles on his back until he relaxed on her, all the while waiting for Dumbledore to lift his eyes from the fire to answer the question he had certainly overheard being asked.

“How lovely,” he finally said, winking at Lily, “that you shall start your Easter holidays a day earlier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥♥♥  
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments and bookmarks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hopefully clarifies the timelines' mess a little bit. Enjoy!

“How can you be _so calm_ ,” Severus asked, after having followed Black for exactly three steps.

“The hell you mean, _calm_?” Black kept walking, as if there was nothing more important in the world than to go back to the Transfiguration classroom.

An older Ravenclaw girl passed by them and did a notorious double take—as Severus was well aware he did not possess the kind of charms that made girls do double takes when approaching him, he reckoned she was probably surprised by the fact that both he and Black were not at each other’s throats. Or perhaps it was _Black_ ’s charms—he’d been popular, Severus supposed, back before being flung to Azkaban. He didn’t know the girl, so she had probably died before Black’s demise. How _very_ tragic.

“For instance, that was your dear brother over there, who you’ve barely—” Suddenly Black’s wand was aiming at Severus’ neck. Severus smirked. Pity that Ravenclaw girl had already scurried down the corridor—she could’ve cheered for Black. “That’s more like it.”

“Don’t you _dare_ assume how I feel about anything, Snivellus.”

Black’s teeth were sharp, but Severus’ hate was sharper.

“So how do you feel meeting your darling family again? Had a chance to see dear Mum one more time, wherever you went behind that Veil?”

Severus had expected a jinx, but he found a Black withdrawing his wand. Black, looking somewhere beyond Severus’ shoulder, with that distant, somewhat glassy expression he would get, sometimes, during Order meetings.

They were so close Severus could see him swallowing.

“No. No,” he whispered, before attaching his eyes to Severus’. Once upon a time, he’d found that unnerving. Now, he just felt disgust. What was Sirius Black’s madness, when he’d seen the Dark Lord’s? “I do—I remember cousin Bella, I remember the fighting—I didn’t go anywhere before coming here,” he continued, incorrectly assuming Severus cared in the slightest where Black was spending his afterlife.

Severus briskly guided the march back to Minerva’s classroom, which was just exactly as it was the day Severus had first entered it, freshly arrived as an eleven-year-old. Except for the settee that was now where there used to be a desk, that is. With a sigh, Severus sat down.

“Well?” he asked, looking at Black.

Black shrugged. Severus could have strangled him.

“Dumbledore told me to bring you here.”

Severus was still furious at Dumbledore because the old fool had made him kill him.

“Are we the only ones who remember, then? Does that mean—”

“How did _you_ die, Snivellus?” Black not only interrupted him, but he dared bring back Severus’ own question to his brother.

It was Severus’ turn to point at Black with his wand. He allowed himself to scoff. They were becoming quite predictable, if he said so. Not that Severus particularly minded.

“You say that one more time, mutt, and I’ll hex you to sprout bats every time you try to speak.”

“Watch me—Sniv—”

A _pop_ spoiled their fun.

They both turned around, with the acquired paranoia of whom have been endlessly on alert for far too long. Because it was just the fire on the hearth, crackling, as fire is bound to do.

Severus still didn’t understand. Why was Potter there, thimble-sized, with all of them, undead fools? Did that mean he was also dead? Had he succeeded? Had it all been for nothing?

Black’s ragged breathing brought him back to the present, just as Remus Lupin entered and expeditiously pointed his wand at him, too.

“You’re here.” He dragged himself inside, never leaving his predator’s eyes from Severus. He suddenly remembered the last time he’d seen the wolf and inexplicably wished Minerva was there, too.

“What’s going on?” Black’s hypocritical question came with him lowering his arm one more time, as if he himself hadn’t been about to hex Severus a mere second before. “C’mon, Moony. He’s just being dramatic. Where’s Prongs, anyway?”

“Flooing home from Dumbledore’s office.”

“Home?”

Severus despised himself for it, but he took almost as long as Black to gather Lupin was talking about Godric’s Hollow. James Potter’s family home, where his parents would still be alive. Lily’s dying place, where he had last seen her.

Severus felt sick. He saw Lupin nod at Black, not looking at him because the wolf still had his wand fixed on Severus. Lupin was still by the door, but Severus could see, even from this distance, that his arm was trembling. Lupin would not hesitate to attack him, he knew, so there had to be another reason. The moon, perhaps. It was always the moon with Lupin. Too bad he didn’t keep a detailed calendar of the moon phases on his person at all times—not that it’d have helped, with all this time travel nonsense. It’d have come useful in times like this—if he had at least seventeen days he could prepare a regular batch of potion—though it was better to let it simmer for two more days, it improved the flavour.

Severus lowered his own wand. He was getting soft in his old-magically-turned-young age.

Then Black uttered his new favourite question and Severus sent a surge of sparks to the fire in pure frustration.

“Moony, how did you die?”

“What does that matter, you idiot? Perhaps you had a pleasant trip, but nobody else wants to recall their deaths!”

Lupin had still not lowered his wand when he answered, with pinched lips.

“I was killed by a Death Eater.”

“Same as me, then!” Black’s cheerfulness seemed to put Lupin out too, and Severus allowed himself a shadow of a smirk.

“Yes. Roughly two years after you.”

Black then put himself between Lupin’s wand and Severus’ body, to Severus’ annoyance.

“Does that mean—Moony, tell me the truth. Was Harry still alive two years after I died?” Severus could see Black was actually trembling. What an idiot. Yes, the boy was alive after he’d died. The world had not stopped with Black’s death, thankfully.

A floating thought came by Severus’ ear to whisper to him that he himself had been thinking in similar terms not ten minutes earlier, but he of course dismissed it.

“I died in a battle, Sirius. I don’t know what happened. Harry was there, though. And You-Know-Who. We were fighting for Hogwarts.” Had Severus cared what Lupin thought of him, he’d probably been cowered by the look of utter revulsion the wolf was giving him.

Caring about other people’s thoughts about him, however, would have complicated Severus’ already complicated life in unimaginable ways. Funny how Lupin hadn’t seemed to hate him this much when he’d cost him his job, but he did when he’d done Dumbledore his last foolish favour. Not that it mattered—that was the _whole_ point of the favour.

Black didn’t seem to notice Lupin’s attitude was not the usual towards Severus—of course, he didn’t seem to have space in his tiny mind for anything apart from himself.

“I fucked up, didn’t I? Well, we all did, but I was the first one to die. Lily’s going to rip my head off. Not that I’d blame her, she’s right. After all that time I came back only to leave Harry alone once more. Moony, Moony, tell me—Was Harry alright, after I died?” But he didn’t look at Lupin when asking such a feeble-minded question—he kept looking at the fire.

So much for Gryffindor bravery, and all that hogwash.

“What do you think? That kid was never alright, and you both know it. What better excuse to call for the attention he desperately sought, than rightfully blaming himself for his idolized godfather’s death?”

Lupin sent a hex in Severus’ direction, but it was meant as a mere warning, given that Severus could dispel it wandlessly.

“It wasn’t Harry’s fault, Severus.”

“Not exclusively, no,” he conceded. “Now, as pleasant as conversation is always with you two, I’d like to know what we’re waiting for in this obviously empty classroom.”

“Dumbledore will come back when Lily, James and Harry are safely placed in Godric’s Hollow. Minerva will, too, so we can discuss where to go from here.”

“ _Safely placed_ , what does that even mean?”

“It means, for some reason, Dumbledore has asked me to trust you even after you killed him, so you’ll stay put in here until he arrives so we can clarify a few aspects.”

Black seemed to wake up from his reverie. Predictable, so very predictable.

Were it not for all the wand-waving, Severus would have felt bored.

“You killed _whom_ , Snivellus?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not take responsibility for any feelings stirred during the reading of this fic, as this particular chapter was written with the films' OST on the background. Any tears dropped are to be blamed on the OST.


	5. Chapter 5

The miracle had come with a _pop_ , but it hadn't changed Dumbledore’s office. Lily didn’t know why she had though it may have—the half-dozen times she’d been in there before, three as a student and the other three as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, the office had been a constant in its Dumbledoreness. A clutter of useless-looking objects that would have blown her Muggle-raised mind had it not been blown years ago by Severus Snape’s words. You’re a witch, and the world had changed. A miracle in itself, she supposed.

A new miracle kept clinging to her neck and waist. A warm, slightly trembling miracle.

Harry was her new constant when Lily stepped inside Dumbledore’s office after being dead.

“We’ll speak more later,” she said when she passed by him on her way to the Floo. He nodded and she nodded in goodbye. She needed to straighten her ideas and rest her arms before she could get in the right mind space to have a serious conversation with Albus Dumbledore.

“Want to go first?” James asked. Lily shook her head. James nodded, but hesitated before reaching to get the Floo powder.

“What now?” Her arms were getting tired despite the charm she’d performed earlier.

James kept looking at her—if he uttered some stupidity, like ‘you look so beautiful with that hairstyle you used to have at fifteen,’ she’d go to her parents’ instead and close the Floo behind her. But James’ head lolled to the side and his eyes stopped trying to convey whatever he unsuccessfully kept trying to tell her to get fixed on Harry.

Harry, who was eagerly looking around the room with his cracked lips slightly parted.

“Want me to take him?”, James finally asked, in a very soft voice that nonetheless awoke both Lily, from her admiring her son’s lovely mouth, and Harry, from exploring Dumbledore’s trinkets.

Harry gasped when James took a step towards them and his hold on Lily’s neck grew bolder.

Lily sighed.

“Let’s just go,” she said, motioning with her head for James to _take the damn power._

“I’ll go first, then,” James said. His arm was already stretched to get the Floo powder, but before he threw it to the popping fire he stopped and turned back.

She pointedly ignored Dumbledore’s snicker and focused on soothing Harry’s obvious distress when his father disappeared into the fire.

“Could you please—?” Dumbledore stalled for a second to pet his phoenix before accepting to throw the Floo powder for her.

“Safe travels, Harry, Lily.”

Lily didn’t need his blessing, but she bit her tongue and announced her destination with a clear voice.

On the other side, Fleamont Potter was alive and hugging his son. “Euphemia!” he called just as Lily erupted from the sitting room’s fire.

At the sight of the familiar wallpaper, Lily’s heart pinched her. She barely remembered to remove herself from the fire before crashing half her weight on the wall just by hearth’s side.

“Mum?” Harry’s frightened whisper on her ear should have been enough to bring functionality back to her, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t, because she could see the stairs in which she presumed James had died, and James was breaking his hug to Fleamont’s obvious disappointment, and Lily wanted to scream and tell him not to be stupid, for how could he have imagined he would be seeing his dead father one more time. But her voice didn’t come, and her lungs didn’t want to work anymore, but it didn’t matter anyway because Harry had _finally_ wiggled himself free and that meant she wouldn’t drop him by mistake if her arms decided to stop working too. She had been _so_ worried, the first times she had held him as a baby—too afraid to break him if she squeezed too strongly, not cautious enough when she carried him in her arms.

“Mum?”

Oh dear, he sounded _frantic_. He’d been wailing when she’d been killed, she distinctly remembered that. Why did she always make her child cry?

“Mum!”

Lily _was_ trying. She wanted to breathe, she _really_ did, because she had just promised to Harry not to leave him and she didn’t want to be that type of mother. But something kept preventing her from taking air into her lungs. Had she been cursed, perhaps? Was this a punishment for having left Harry alone?

She slithered to the ground. The carpet was the same she kept having to clean whenever Padfoot left after having spent the afternoon playing with Harry.

And, suddenly, everything cleared.

James had crouched before her and held the point of his wand to her heart. Had it been anybody else—even Sirius or Minerva or anyone else—, she’d have cursed them. But James was healing her lungs, muttering incantations that somehow got through her robes to her malfunctioning chest and bringing the air back.

She inhaled.

“Thanks, love,” she whispered, and got a relieved kiss in return.

“James!” Euphemia Potter rushed into the room. “What’s happened? Why are you here? Who are these people? Weren’t you coming tomorrow, dear?”

Lily took another second to gather her breath before very ungracefully crawling towards where Harry stood. The child was completely paralysed, and he anxiously kept glancing at his grandparents and James and Lily and the fire.

“Harry,” she whispered. On her knees, she was roughly of his size. “Harry, it’s alright.”

But Harry didn’t seem to acknowledge her words. His arms, who had so deliciously been wrapped around her neck just a few minutes ago, were now limp at his sides.

“James?” Fleamont’s tone was also full of questions, but Lily didn’t dare take her eyes away from Harry.

James could handle his parents, just as he’d handled her little crisis. She was ready to run after him if Harry decided to try escaping through the fire.

She swallowed a sob when she realized she didn’t know what to say to make her son trust her again. She didn’t know him, she’d never known him. He was this whole new, miraculous person, and she’d been forcefully removed from his life.

“Harry, I’m here,” she pleaded.

She wanted to hold him again.

“Who are these kids, James?” Euphemia had taken her wand out. She wasn’t pointing at them, not yet, but Lily knew they would.

“James!” she chided, and it seemed to work.

“Yes. Well. Mum, Dad, we’ve had a little mishap. Magic-wise, that is. Very unexpected.” He cleared his throat.

Lily groaned and deemed the situation too lost to keep gambling safe.

She glowered at her husband, still from her very undignified position on the floor. She saw James gulp and was _glad_.

“Don’t you _dare_ say things like that in front of Harry,” she said. And then she took her time to look back to her son, so that she could control what her face looked like when she finally smiled at him. It was probably a very feeble smile, but it finally seemed to catch Harry’s attention. “You’re not a mishap. You’re _not_. This is not a mishap. This is a miracle, do you hear me? Your dad’s just being silly. You surprised us, that’s all. Right, James?”

But James didn’t get the chance to answer, because Fleamont screeched, reminding Lily of those awful plants they’d studied once in Herbology.

She saw Harry recoil from the sound. She made sure to plant herself between Harry and his grandparents.

“What does she mean, your dad?” Fleamont quoted. “Care to explain? How old is this child, anyway?”

“I’m ten,” Harry said.

Lily would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation, if she wasn’t in the very dire need of a full night’s sleep not two feet away from Harry.

“I’ve just said there was magic involved. I believe, Father, Mother, I have mentioned Lily before?”

Euphemia’s narrowed eyes meant he had, but it didn’t change her opinion on things.

“Certainly,” Fleamont said. “Lily, dear, a pleasure,” he said, but he didn’t sound very pleased.

“James,” she urged.

“Yes. It’s just a tad difficult to explain. Where do we begin? We died, that’s for sure. And then we came back to life, right?”

“What do you mean, you _died_?”

“I’d fetch something to drink if I didn’t get the feeling we’re getting to the best part,” Fleamont said.

“We didn’t die _now_ ,” James continued. “Actually, it was 1981. We got married, Lily and I, after school. We were fighting You-Know-Who and—”

“Who’s that?” Harry interrupted.

“I’ll explain later,” Lily whispered.

“That’s the evil man who killed your Mum and I, lad,” James said instead. To Lily’s astonishment, Harry just nodded.

“In 1981,” Euphemia repeated. At her son’s nod, she withdrew her wand. “And when was this child born?”

“July the thirty-first, 1980,” Harry dutifully supplied.

“How marvelous,” Fleamont said.

“It is,” Harry said. He emerged from behind Lily. “I went to live with my aunt and uncle, but they told me my parents had died in a car accident. They lied, though. And then I got this letter today,” he produced his still-sealed Hogwarts letter. Fleamont, who was the closest one, studied the name on the envelope.

“Mr. Harry Potter,” he read.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re all going to need that drink, I believe, Fleamont dear,” Euphemia said, leading the way to the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’ve just told you to shut your dirty mouth, you—” Severus was very much ready to remove Black’s mouth from his self-assured face. Before he could or Lupin jumped in to prevent it, though, the door to the Transfiguration classroom opened.

“Oh, dear me. I was looking for Professor McGonagall?” A dot-sized Gilderoy Lockhart strained his rosy cheeks in a feeble attempt to look cute and smaller than he already was. “Ah, but you’re a prefect, right, Mr. Lupin?” And a bat of his eyelashes, too. As if that would give him points in the wolf’s book.

Lupin blinked. None of them put their wands down.

“Get out,” Black barked and sent some sparks the kid’s way. Lockhart screeched and closed the door behind him. Severus grimaced briefly when he realized he’d lost his chance to give him a chicken’s beak and pig ears.

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself? We trusted you, I took you to my house! And you— You killed— How? How could you? Dumbledore trusted you!” If Black’s arm were trembling more one couldn’t have heard his wails over the roar of the wind he’d create.

“And why, pray tell, would I have to justify myself to _you_?”

“I’ll kill you!”

“And what would that solve, exactly?” Severus sneered. They were already dead.

“ _Sirius_. Dumbledore said to wait for him here.” And Lupin was always ready and willing to do as Albus bid, the old fool. Just like himself. Dead idiots, that’s what they all were.

“Ah, Lupin. How nice of you, to come to my rescue. I’ll fend off this mongrel by myself, if you’ll be so agreeable.”

“Don’t test your luck, Snape.”

“But, Moony! Is that true? Did he really kill Dumbledore?”

“That’s what Harry said. Then he left Hogwarts, like a coward.”

What had the world come to be—The word of a dolt boy with a hero complex was law, and Lily was alive.

“But it can’t be. Dumbledore—dead!”

“Are you that daft, Black?”

The door slammed open one more time. All three of them swung their wands to point at the newcomer, who wasn’t another intrusive first-year but Minerva McGonagall, who cleared her throat at the sight that welcomed her.

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to know Mr. Pettigrew has already been secured.”

“He hasn’t committed any crimes yet,” Lupin argued. At her raised eyebrow, he was the first one to withdraw his wand.

“I have my methods. Now, _boys_ , will you behave? There’s much to discuss and I’m already nursing a well-earned headache.”

Severus remembered her weird apology from before and lowered his wand immediately. If he cared enough he could ask her about it, he supposed.

“Remus says Snape killed Dumbledore.”

Black apparently had the listening comprehension of a moth.

“Ah, yes. That will be correct. Now, Sirius, I’m sure your mother told you sometime it is considered rude to point your wand at other people. Yes, that would be right, thank you. Now—”

“Minerva, he really did it.” Lupin seemed on the verge to have an aneurysm. One would have thought werewolfs were more resilient than most against such futile illnesses.

“Yes. On Albus’ orders, that is.”

“And who told you that?” Severus’ voice sounded raspier than he’d intended. He swallowed when she looked directly at him.

“Mr. Harry Potter himself. After he had defeated You-Know-Who, of course. He had a very interesting tale about some memory he witnessed, you see.”

Minerva nodded, as if her briskness were enough to make his dead brain understand. He just looked back at her, probably looking very much alike the gaping Sirius Black.

“He survived, then?” Severus finally asked.

“In a way, he did,” she softly said.

“What does that mean?” Black finally said something Severus could relate to. He scowled at the thought. “Did Harry die?”

“Ah, well, we’re all here already. That will save us some time.” The door closed after Albus’ hideous, bright-orange robes.

“Is it true then, Albus? Did you ask Severus to kill you?”

“Ah, Remus. It was more begging than asking on my part, but yes, you could say that. I’m sure Severus still hasn’t forgiven me for that.” Severus clenched his fists when Albus had the nerve to _wink_ at him.

“If we’re going to discuss any of that, I believe Lily should be present,” he said. Albus rounded his eyes before the smile had time to creep back to his face, so he took that as a victory.

“Well, they have just left. Surely you don’t want to intrude in what is likely being a heartfelt family reunion?”

Severus allowed himself a brief smirk.

“I’m sure she’ll be interested in knowing you raised his son to die, Albus.”

“I quite agree,” Minerva said.

Albus’ smile didn’t falter.

“We’ll at least wait a few hours to firecall them, in that case. Young Harry didn’t seem willing to let his mother go for the time being, and we’ve found ourselves with a twenty-year extra supply of time, after all.”

“I’m afraid I don’t completely follow.” Lupin seemed ready to collapse on the settee. How could he look more exhausted at fifteen than back when he’d been fighting a war? Did they all look like that?

Black started tittering like the madman he was.

“So we’re not dead? How is that?”

“Yes, that is another issue that requires tackling. I believe we may be subjects to some form of time travel. Perhaps Filius could—”

“Ah, Minerva. Of course. That was my assumption, too. It might be best if we didn’t involve people not affected by this extraordinary phenomenon, as we do not know the extent of the magic we are dealing with yet.”

Minerva’s face was as blank as a primeval rock. Severus wasn’t in the best disposition to accept Albus’ judgement, either.

“In any case, Albus, I would like to know more about that mission you sent the kids on,” Lupin said.

Severus resisted a sudden urge to cackle like Bellattrix on one of her good days.

“You don’t want to know, Lupin.”

“And should I trust _your_ word for it?”

“ _Boys_ ,” Minerva repeated. But if Potter had told her about Severus’ memories he must have told her about the Dark Lord’s horcruxes, too. So her admonishment lacked real intent. He was right, and the three people in the whole world—naturally, excluding the Dark Lord— who were in the _know_ could never go back to _not knowing._

“Once you hear it, you won’t be able to unhear it,” Severus leered.

“So why, why, Albus?" Lupin asked. "Why send three barely-of-age teens to save the world, armed only with that _very dreadful_ knowledge?”

Black’s mouth remained open. Severus would have liked to plant some Shrivelfig seeds inside.

“To answer that, my dear Remus, we really ought to wait for Lily to arrive. It would be terribly impolite on our part not to wait for her, as you have previously and very accurately made me realise.”

Severus found himself agreeing with both Lupin and Albus. He shared a horrified glance with Minerva, though hers was probably due to some Gryffindorish and therefore inanely mettlesome reason.

“What do we do, then?” Black kept squinting at all of them. Only Lupin seemed worried enough to take a step towards him and guide him towards the settee. It wasn’t wide enough to fit both of them, but after a brief and quite pointless wrestle Black settled for sitting on the floor while Lupin took the seat. As if they were not in a room full of perfectly usable, if old, desks.

“Shall we dine? I am nursing quite the craving for butterbeer cupcakes, myself.” He enlarged Minerva’s table to fit five people and with another flourish he produced a myriad of flamboyant ornaments to set it for dinner.

Severus wasted no time in turning a desk into a chair so he could choose one of the outside seats. He scowled when he had to put away a repulsive, flowery ribbon to be able to reach his napkin.

Minerva took the seat closest to his, while Albus called the house-elfs to provide their dinner. Not that he was particularly hungry—he still could feel Nagini’s fangs piercing his flesh every time he swallowed, but he reckoned having his mouth occupied with food meant he didn’t have to entertain the others’ vacuous conversation.

Minerva was probably feeling generous because she too stuck to her food without speaking much, not even to voice the opinions she must have had on the fact that Lupin had had a child during the war, whose story was being told to an awestruck Black on the other end of the table. Albus did not share Minerva’s gracious insight and kept posing questions and congratulating the fledgling father, apparently not taking into account that he had barely met his son before he had died.

A very tragic story. Not that Severus understood the appeal to bring another child into the world, who would undoubtedly come soiling Hogwart’s corridors with his grubby presence before Severus had time to blink.

“Andromeda was always very kind to me, all things considered,” Lupin was saying when Albus decided seven cupcakes were one too many and called an end to the already overstretched celebration.

“Should we move this very delightful party to my office?” Albus suggested, and waited for two seconds before making the food disappear.

“Let’s get to business, cousin!” Black’s enthusiastic pat on Lupin’s back would have probably eroded a trench on a lesser man. Minerva turned her classroom back to normal before ushering them all though the door.

The students must have been having dinner, because the corridors were almost deserted. They did momentarily meet Filch, who was promptly waved off by Albus, who assured him he would carry personally the befitting detentions.

Severus would have felt rather irritated at the idea of having to serve _detention_ , but he was otherwise occupied with the realization that Lily would probably not like very much the idea that her son was basically a deposit box for the Dark Lord’s soul fragments. He was looking forward to see her again, though.

He suppressed a shudder when they entered the Headmaster’s office.


	7. Chapter 7

Lily heard the Floo roar to life just as she was closing the door to a sleeping Harry. Euphemia had insisted in settling him in James’ old bedroom and giving James and her one of the other two spare rooms. Lily had adamantly refused the one that they’d later turned into the nursery—unpleasant memories and all that—and they would probably have to go on a bit of a shopping spree in the morning, but for now she was happy her son was peacefully sleeping not far from her. And the moment when she would hit the pillow herself could not arrive soon enough.

“Lily, dear?” Fleamont called her into the main room. Lily sighed and braced herself to at least be polite to whoever deemed pertinent to pay visits after dinner.

Dumbledore’s face was waiting for her in the fire.

“Something happened?” she asked, grabbing her wand. She would not let it out of her reach—not after what had happened last time she didn’t have it with her.

“Fortunately, nothing as of yet. We would however like you to be present for certain pending discussions.”

“Can’t they wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not. Is Harry asleep?”

“Yes.” James came from the shower, already wearing his favourite pyjama from when he was really fifteen—or so he had explained to Harry, who had smiled timidly and poked at the moving snitches on the sleeves. “We shouldn’t leave him alone.”

Lily agreed, but before Fleamont could complain and argue he and Euphemia were just a room away from her boy, she saw something on Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes that made her nod.

“You stay here with your parents, love. Make sure you’ve got your wand with you at all times,” she reminded him, before tucking a bit of hair behind her ear and grabbing some powder.

He reached for her arm before she could throw it into the fireplace, stopping her just long enough to kiss her mouth. Lily wanted nothing more than to let herself go and stay in James’ hug the whole night.

She went through the fire, though.

Dumbledore’s office felt crowded when she reached the other side.

“Would you care for some tea?” Lily didn’t, but she accepted the offered cup.

“Please go to the point. It’s been a long day,” she said as she let Dumbledore’s desk support her weight. The warm tea stilled a little her trembling hands.

“Indeed,” Minerva said. She had foregone the tea and was already nursing a firewhiskey jar, not unlike the one Euphemia had drank in one single gulp before approaching Harry and telling him she was his grandmother. Harry had clung to her almost as tightly as he had been clinging to Lily herself.

“So?” Lily eyed the rest of them from behind the mist floating from her cup. She hadn’t remembered how many scars Remus’ face had at fifteen, nor that Sirius used to wear his tie as if it had personally offended him. Severus didn’t avoid her eyes anymore—he hadn’t looked her in the eye since they had fought. “Should I start with the questioning, then?” she said, when nobody spoke.

“Please,” Dumbledore bowed his head.

She drank some tea to steel her voice. It wouldn’t do to start shouting.

“Why was Harry sent to live with Petunia?” she asked, slowly enunciating her vowels. The silence that ensued was only broken by a snoring portrait near the door. “ _Sirius_?”

Sirius’ face fell.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lily, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone, I shouldn’t have run after him, that rat, that— I fucked up— But you were dead, you were gone! And Wormtail had escaped, and I couldn’t let him get away with it, with betraying you, his friends, his family!” He sobbed, and wailed and cried, finally dropping to his knees by Lily’s feet, “I messed up, I know, I’m sorry. Messed up, fucked up, again and again, and I failed you, and James, and Harry— I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Sirius’ ragged whimpers would have likely broken her heart, had it not been twice broken already in the past hours—by hearing her husband die, by meeting a son who did not know her. Sirius didn’t deserve to spill the tears Harry didn’t feel comfortable shedding, if she judged by the way he had behaved during the evening.

“Stand up,” she said, cutting his melodrama at once. The tea was boiling with her rage, and she did not care enough to bind her magic. “Stand up and shut it, Sirius. I don’t want you crying and begging for forgiveness—I want to know what made my son grow up without knowing he was a wizard. So either explain or _shut up_.”

Sirius looked up. She didn’t waver.

Nobody came in his help—Severus even snorted, though he fell silent at her brief glance.

“I went after Wormtail,” he eventually recited, after sloppily wiping his soaked cheeks. “When I went there, I realised what had happened. I left Harry with Hagrid and looked for Wormtail, and the damn bastard blew up an entire street when I finally found him. Then— Then—” Sirius seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. Lily didn’t have the patience to wait for him to remember.

“Then?” she prompted. She would _not_ be moved by a man who had put _revenge_ over the life of a baby entrusted to his care.

“We all thought Sirius had betrayed you. We thought he’d killed Peter too; he went to Azkaban,” Remus murmured.

“Azkaban!” Despite herself, Lily gasped. “Why didn’t you tell the truth? Did they not believe you, why did—?”

“You were already dead,” Sirius pathetically said.

“But Harry wasn’t!” Lily slammed the cup on the desk. It was still full to the brim. “You are his godfather, Sirius. That means you had to fight to make sure he’s alright, when James and I couldn’t. He was powerless, he was a baby! And you let him go to _Petunia_? Have you never heard me talk about her? She hates magic, she hates _us_ —She must have treated him like—Like—” Lily trailed off.

Involuntarily, her eyes sought Severus’. He had known about Tuney. He’d been _there_ to hear her call them both freaks. Her heart ached when she imagined she might have told Harry, her beautiful Harry, the same awful things.

Severus kept silent.

“I wanted to take him when I escaped Azkaban.” Lily’s mind was too tired to properly register the implications of what Sirius was saying. “I asked him if he wanted to come live with me, and he said yes. But he couldn’t, because everyone thought I was guilty, and the dementors— He saved my life, Lily. Harry did. He was thirteen and he—”

“It doesn’t work like that. You should have saved him, not the other way around. You don’t get to decide when to reach for him, or when it is convenient for you. It doesn’t work like that.”

She refused to look at Sirius for now. She was glad James was not there to witness such a pitiful show.

“Lily—”

“No. Let’s move on. Sirius gave Harry to Hagrid. What happened next?”

“Albus and I took him to Petunia Dursley’s house,” Minerva said. “And we left him there,” she added, in a very low voice. She didn’t try to justify her actions and Lily was grateful for that.

“You didn’t check on him. You didn’t visit or made sure Tuney was treating him as she should. You just left him there.” Lily’s statement of the facts made Sirius and Remus shrink a little, but not Minerva. Minerva just nodded gravely. “Until he came to Hogwarts?”

“Until he came to Hogwarts,” she confirmed.

“Hagrid took him to buy his supplies to Diagon Alley,” Dumbledore intervened. Lily noted then he had probably been the one to decide who should keep Harry if not Sirius. He didn’t apologise either.

“And I’m sure _Hagrid_ explained just about everything he needed to know before coming to a magic school, never having heard of such a thing before,” she wryly said, for she distinctly remembered how being eleven and ignorant of the rules you were playing by felt.

“I don’t think he did,” Remus said.

“And what’s your excuse?” she asked him.

“I don’t have one. I never visited, never asked about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I missed you, and because I convinced myself he was better without me.”

There was nothing but sincerity in Remus’ eyes, and she stifled a sigh. She was not in the right presence of mind to deal with his insecurities, not when Harry needed her the most.

“You should have still checked. As the Headmaster should have,” she added.

“You are completely right, my dear. That was a terrible misjudgement on my part, and nothing I say will ever be able to make it up to you and Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed clouded. Lily still didn’t understand.

“But why? Why on earth would you do that?”

Dumbledore sighed.

“For once, Petunia already had a son of Harry’s age. She had the ability and the willingness to be a mother, and a stable home hidden from wizards and witches that could have wanted to retaliate in revenge for what they believed young Harry had done, or congratulate him, or simply interfere in his life unnecessarily, therefore disturbing his growing up.”

“Hidden? What are you talking about? What could Harry have possibly done? He was one year old!”

“Your sacrifice protected him, Lily. When Voldemort tried to kill Harry, the curse rebuked.”

Lily blinked, forgetting even to react to Dumbledore’s saying of the name.

“The curse. The killing curse, you mean. It rebuked?” she repeated.

“Everybody believed it was something Harry did,” Remus said. “He became famous. The Boy-Who-Lived, they started calling him. Harry did not enjoy the attention much, though.”

“And how would _you_ know that?”

“I taught him here, at Hogwarts. Third year. He was the youngest person I’ve ever seen produce a corporeal Patronus.” Lily noted he sounded quite proud. She refused to let herself feel envious and decided to focus on his words instead.

“A _Patronus_? In third year?”

Remus nodded.

“A stag.”

Lily snorted.

“James will shit himself.” She then realised something else. “And why would he have wanted to learn _the bloody Patronus charm_ at thirteen?”

“That’s on me, too,” Sirius squealed. Lily was not sure she could have stood another crying session, but he just shook his head and let the others do the talking.

“The Ministry, on a display of brilliancy, decided the best way to prevent the murderer Sirius Black from kidnapping the famed Harry Potter was to surround a school with Dementors,” Severus sneered.

Lily didn’t think her brain was ready to absorb any more absurd information, so she went for what she _could_ understand.

“I forbid you to say my son’s name with that kind of tone in his presence,” she coldly said.

Severus frowned his lips, but didn’t contradict her, which was certainly a first. Lily supposed he’d had time to mature a little, after her death.

“So Remus was Harry’s professor at Hogwarts, and Sirius was in Azkaban. Minerva and the Headmaster remained here, I assume? Anything else I should know?” She asked Dumbledore himself, because, in her experience, his tendency to hoard vital information resulted in a very vast collection at the end of the day.

“Still quite a bit, I’m afraid, my dearest Lily. Once young Harry arrived at Hogwarts— Voldemort was not as dead as we had assumed.”

“And he went after Harry?”

Lily’s heart knew fear. She’d feared being ostracised by both wizards and Muggles because of her origins, and she’d feared rejection from James once he became fed up with caring for a baby, and she’d feared she’d be the worst possible mother for Harry, and she’d feared You Know Who would kill Harry before he’d had the chance to learn how to speak.

The problem with dying so that Harry could live, she was coming to realise, was that she was therefore not able to protect him anymore. Nor from her own sister, nor from the wizarding world.

“But why? Why, Albus? You do know, you _do_!” She took a step towards Dumbledore, not caring if her voice broke with the accusations. “Why would he tell me to stand aside, why would he want to kill a baby? He was not after me—He was after Harry! Why?” Lily’s face had covered with tears while she begged. Her mind was lost in the memory that had happened, for her, only hours ago, but that seemed buried behind the thick fog of everything that had happened ever since.

She wanted to run back to Godric’s Hollow and check that Harry was still in bed, safe and alive, but at the same time she needed answers to be able to breathe again.

Dumbledore waited until she could control her sobs.

“Albus! Just tell her!” Severus exclaimed.

“Tell her _what,_ exactly? What do _you_ know?” Sirius asked.

“I must ask of you that you listen to a long and sad story, Lily. I do not know if I behaved mistakenly by withholding this information from you and James the first time around. However—”

“You did, you did!” Severus came forward, speaking with a fury Lily had never seen in him directed at anyone but the Marauders. “You brought us into your net of lies and plots and schemes and by the time you deigned to indulge us and tell us what you were planning for us, mere pawns in your big game, to do, it was too late to change anything!”

“Severus?” Remus sounded as lost as Lily felt.

“Severus, I understand you are still quite angry at—”

“It’s not about _me_ , Albus! It’s about what you did to the boy! Just come forward and tell Lily all about your magnificent plan!”

Severus’ explosion left an illusion of silence in the Headmaster’s office. Lily’s head was pounding.

“It’s time, Albus,” Minerva gently said.

“Lily,” Dumbledore began. And he told a fantastic story, so unbelievable as the tales Lily and Severus used to craft about their going to a magic school before they arrived at Hogwarts. Dumbledore told a story that involved basilisk venom and long-lost artefacts and the feeble protection her own sacrifice had deposited in Harry’s veins, useless to protect him from the dangers coming from inside Petunia’s house. A second war, a second Order of the Phoenix. Sirius’ death and a lake full of Inferi, and Severus Snape hearing a prophecy that led to a half-fulfilled promise.

When Albus Dumbledore quietened, Lily closed her eyes.

She needed time to process what she had heard—she needed to tell James and she needed to hug Harry. She just—

“Alright,” she said. “Alright. So you asked Severus to kill you, and you sent my son on a deadly mission, because it was the only way. And then you died, and they— Did they succeed?” Lily was asking Severus, but he only shook his head.

“They did,” Minerva said.

“So what now? Why are we here now?”

“We’re dead,” Sirius said.

“You too, Minerva?” Remus asked.

“I’m not.”

“Then why? Why all of us, why here? Why _now_?” Lily’s clutching of the desk was the only thing preventing her from falling to the floor.

“We’ll have to find out,” Remus unhelpfully said. Minerva nodded.

“Severus and I will investigate the Horcrux matter. We must seize this chance we have been awarded to prevent history from repeating itself. We will not hesitate to act this time,” Dumbledore said. Severus only grunted.

“What will you do, Lily?” Sirius asked. Perhaps he was waiting for her to announce a new daring adventure he could join.

Lily didn’t know where she found the energy to laugh.

“I’m going home, of course.”


	8. Chapter 8

Harry woke up with a gasp, in a foreign, dark room. For a moment, he couldn’t remember why he wasn’t in his cupboard, why his head was resting on a very fluffy pillow and why he had space to stretch his limbs without disturbing the spiders’ rest.

Then it all came to him and he remembered the letter and the _pop_ and his parents—his parents!— and also his grandparents and the magic. Magic! What a blast! He started and gasped again.

He fumbled around for his glasses but he couldn’t find them, nor could he find his way in the dark room. His mum had left too, though Harry was not really surprised by that. A bit disappointed, maybe, but he wouldn’t say surprised, no.

The floor wasn’t cold when he jumped out of the bed, because there was a very smooth rug that protected his feet but that, for some reason, made Harry feel very small and alone all of the sudden.

He cautiously opened the door just enough to let some light into the room—squinting and hesitantly feeling the weird but absolutely brilliant stuff his dad—his _dad_! Could you believe that?—had on his bedside table, Harry finally grabbed his glasses. Once he wore them, dirty and crooked as they were, he felt another pang of something really chilly and ugly settle at the bottom of this stomach, just by looking around at the room.

Dad had a lot of _things_. Probably not as many as Dudley —not that Harry would have wanted his dad to be anything like Dudley, mind—, but he did have gadgets and books and a wardrobe full of clothes.

Harry left the room before it became too hard to breathe.

The corridor was dimly lit by a moving light that followed Harry when he tiptoed towards the kitchen, where he could hear whispered voices —he didn’t know who they were, but he hoped it was his mum.

The kitchen door was not completely shut, so Harry pushed it open carefully.

There sat his grandmother, who had insisted he should call her _Grandma_ while filling his plate once and again until Harry was so full he could not have eaten a spoonful more even if he had wanted to. Grandma sent the light back to the corridor with a flick of this stick called a _wand_ that his letter—the one thing Harry blamed for all the amazing stuff that was happening to him—said he would need to buy too. She was frowning, though, so Harry feared for a moment that she would send him back to bed. Aunt Petunia would have too, probably with a rolling pin to the head and a stern promise not to feed him breakfast the following morning.

But Harry’s stomach was full here and he then saw Mum sitting next to Grandma, nursing a cup of tea. He ran towards her after just a hesitant second.

“Harry? Had trouble sleeping, sweetheart?” Grandma sounded worried and it made Harry pause, even though his Mum was already opening her arms in welcome.

He looked at Grandma. She wasn’t mocking him or sneering or sharing those _knowing_ looks his old teachers used to give Aunt Petunia during parent-teacher conferences. In fact, Grandma was _kindly_ smiling. She even asked if Harry wanted some tea.

“Harry?” Mum asked, softly touching his arm, when he failed to give an answer. An arm that was covered in a very nice and warm and _beautiful_ pyjama sleeve.

“Mum?” he asked, because he didn’t understand what was wrong with him, getting all confused and weird, and he selfishly wanted to see if she would comfort him.

And then Mum pulled him from his arm, effectively guiding him towards her open embrace. He collapsed onto her and started crying the moment her hand came to rest at the top of his head.

She didn’t seem disgusted by his hair or his face or the things he said or the fact that he didn’t know how to answer Grandma’s questions. She just held him and told him how much she loved him and didn’t mind when Harry hugged her very, very tightly.

She didn’t tell him to go to bed either.

“Darling, my darling—” She smelled nicely, too. Harry hadn’t known how Mums were supposed to smell—after all, Aunt Petunia was Dudley’s mum and she always smelled like soap. Harry didn’t actually like that smell, because of that one time when he’d told her some naughty things he’d been thinking and she made her threats of washing his mouth with soap come true.

“Mum?”

“Sweetheart,” she answered, and it sounded like whatever he was going to say was important.

“Mum. I don’t want to drink soap,” he said, because he didn’t want to tell the whole story in case it gave her punishment ideas, for a future where she might have changed her mind about him. But he wanted to say something about it, because she had assured him during dinner that she wanted to know what Harry liked and didn’t like, and Dad had asked him which his favourite colour was.

“You mean the _tea_?” Grandma’s face was doing funny things when Harry risked a glance from between Mum’s hair. Harry smiled a little.

“Can I still have some? Please,” he added, remembering how sometimes Aunt Petunia would like him a bit better if he showed he’d learnt to be polite after all her altruistic efforts.

Mum had explained that Dad and her could not do magic outside of the school, so Grandma was the one to flick her wand once more and bring a floating cup to the kitchen table.

“Do you want sugar, Harry? And milk?”

Harry had only ever been allowed tea whenever Dudley had forgotten his cup while playing video games and it had become cold. Aunt Petunia had tried once to reheat it in the microwave, but Uncle Vernon had said reheated tea was not fit for his growing boy, and he had given him a sip of his beer that Dudley had promptly spat on Harry’s face. Harry hadn’t been allowed near the microwave when the food he was preparing was for his own consumption, because Aunt Petunia said he didn’t need to heat the perfectly good food she kept providing for him from the kindness of her heart, so the only tea he’d ever tried was a very sweetened and at best lukewarm mix that he actually didn’t like very much. But then there was this girl he’d overheard at school saying how her mum prepared her tea with a squeeze of lemon juice and he’d wanted to try that ever since.

“Can I have it with lemon?”

He wasn’t sure Grandma would allow it—after all, there was no lemon on the table, and maybe in the house, so he’d most likely have to make do with normal tea. But then Grandma said something and two sugar cubes became one lemon just before Harry’s eyes.

Not letting go of Mum’s neck forever was very tempting, but Harry just _had to_ get closer to the lemon to see if it just looked like a lemon, or if its skin was like a normal lemon’s skin when he touched it.

“Wow!” he said, when he’d checked that it was indeed exactly like a normal lemon would be. “Can you do that as well, Mum?”

“And you’ll be able to do it too, honey, in no time,” she smiled. Whenever Mum smiled, Harry felt a sudden need to hug her once more, even if he was already hugging her.

Tea with lemon turned out to be a lot better than cold tea with no lemon, so Harry grinned too while drinking from his cup. Mum was telling Grandma how she and Dad had started going out together, and it was nice because Harry hadn’t heard that story before either.

After a while, though, Mum said they should all go to sleep.

Harry wasn’t tired anymore, and he didn’t want to go back to Dad’s room all by himself, so he resisted all attempts Mum made to release his fingers clutching her robes. He was a bit afraid he’d eventually make her lose her patience and she would scream and _make_ him go to bed, but he didn’t mind because he’d have got a few more minutes of being close to her and that was all Harry could think of.

“Harry! But why don’t you want to go to your room?”

It was not Harry’s room but Dad’s, but Harry didn’t say so because Grandma had made a big show earlier of ushering Dad out from it and saying it was for Harry to use from then on.

“I just don’t!” he cried. He didn’t want to let go, so he made sure his legs were also firmly circling Mum’s waist when she stood up. “Please, please!” he begged, suddenly terrified when her arms took a second more than what Harry had thought to come and help support his weight. He started sobbing and getting tears and snot on her neck and he was sorry about it, because he was getting her all dirty, but he could not make them stop. “Just don’t leave, Mum, please!” he managed to whisper between sobs.

She started walking and he didn’t know what was happening, too busy holding onto her, until he felt her sitting down again.

“Lily?” It was Dad.

Harry forced himself to stop making noise, because Grandma had said while having the tea that Dad had already gone to bed. And now Harry was behaving like a baby and had made Mum wake him up to deal with him and those stupid tears would not stop falling and Mum would not want to speak with him for days for getting her clothes all wet.

Harry’s hands were tired and trembling when Dad forced his fingers to relax their grip. He wanted to fight it because he didn’t want to stop hugging Mum, but he was having trouble breathing and Dad’s touch was so _soft_ it only made Harry cry harder.

“There, there. It’s alright, baby. It’s alright. Mum’s not going anywhere, and I’m not going anywhere either.” Dad had managed to release Harry’s hold on Mum, but he wasn’t forcing him to leave the bed or the room or to stop crying. Mum pressed a very squelchy kiss on Harry’s drenched cheek.

“Only for tonight, you can sleep here with us,” Mum said.

“Okay,” he sobbed.

“We love you so much, Harry.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay?”

For some reason, it didn’t sound as frightening as it should. They would be angry in the morning, that was for sure, because nobody wanted to sleep with a clingy baby who threw tantrums before going to bed. But they had said they loved him, and Mum had started removing her clothes but was not leaving in disgust, and Dad hadn’t yet let Harry’s hands go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was easily my favourite chapter to write after the first one? hope you enjoy it!


	9. Chapter 9

How Severus was supposed to remember the March, 1975 password to enter the Slytherin common room, he did not know. He spent a good twenty minutes looking at the blank stones, applying half of his mind to try and guess the password, while the other half raced through what they had just told Lily in the Headmaster’s office.

One of those halves was becoming disproportionately lazy, because the wall only opened when a younger student, probably a second or third year that Severus did not know nor care about, mumbled _Pritcher's Porritch_ and rushed inside with only a brief glance at him.

Severus couldn’t have said when was the last time he’d been in that common room. He hadn’t visited as much once he’d stopped being Head of Slytherin, and he’d been busy enough his last year at Hogwarts, what with being servile to both a man with a divided soul and a meddlesome portrait, as well as making sure the Carrows didn’t become too enthusiastic in their ensuring the Dark Lord’s world views were faithfully transmitted to the students, on top of making sure Lily’s son didn’t die before he needed to.

So, for just a second, he looked around the common room, and found it completely different than he remembered it to be. Which was a clear sign he needed to catch some rest, because the dungeons were exactly as they ought to.

Perhaps the discordant element were Regulus Black’s stringy limbs, carefully folded on an armchair by the windows. Severus strolled towards him.

“Are you going home for Easter?” he asked, because what was there to ask when you couldn’t say what you really meant.

Regulus was absently tracing wand patterns he kept checking on his Charms book. He hummed.

“Didn’t fancy you as the type to go on a diet” he said.

“I’m not.” Severus sat down on the armchair next to him.

“So why did you skip dinner?”

“I didn’t. Had detention.”

Regulus nodded.

“Figured as much. None of them were at the Great Hall, either.” Both of them knew who Regulus was referring to. “You’re not going home, are you?”

Severus snorted.

“No way.”

“Not many Slytherins are staying.”

“They usually don’t.”

“Is Evans staying?”

“No.”

“You should study, then.”

Regulus looked at him for the first time when Severus failed to answer. He looked at him and Severus looked back, seeing a dead boy who nonetheless was alive now, practising wand movements. All he could think was that it was all for nothing. A couple more years and Regulus would be dead, and then the Dark Lord would be dead too, and the Boy Who Lived would be alive but only until he was not.

Minerva had said Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord.

Neither Regulus nor Severus had joined him yet.

Was it better this way? Severus didn’t know how Regulus had died. It might have been worse than his own dead. It might have been quicker or less painful.

Regulus didn’t remember so he would probably walk the same path.

How could Severus save him, when he wasn’t even able to save himself?

Should he even try?

“Severus? What did they do?”

How Regulus could ask such a sweet and contained question, having grown up where he had, Severus did not understand. He _needed_ to know how he had died, so he could prevent it from happening.

What had made him betray the Dark Lord?

“There are five objects I must find,” he began, his voice no stronger than a whisper. “I know where some of them are, and I know where some of them will be. Have you ever heard about something that can be found both in the Ravenclaw common room and somewhere else?”

He didn’t know what was making him trust Regulus. The fact that Dumbledore had never trusted anyone, probably. Perhaps he was revisiting an adolescent rebel phase.

“I don’t even know where the Ravenclaw common room is.”

“In a tower, on the west wing.” Severus didn’t make a habit of visiting the other Houses’ common rooms, but he had been twice to Ravenclaw Tower during his years as a professor.

Regulus smirked.

“Been shagging a Raven? Did she have claws?”

Severus ignored him. He looked outside the windows, at the fish agreeably frolicking in the lake.

“Something from Rowena Ravenclaw, perhaps. One of the others belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, after all,” he murmured.

Regulus closed his book.

“Her long-lost diadem, in that case,” he suggested. “Are you planning to spend the whole break hunting treasures, Severus?”

“Not a treasure exactly, no.”

“Sounds exciting. I could tell Mother I must study so she lets me come back early.”

Severus would have paid to be free of old Walburga Black, had she been _his_ mother. Or spilt a couple drops of the Draught of the Living Dead into her firewhiskey, enough to last her the whole break.

“Wouldn’t want you to miss dear Mummy’s attentions.”

Regulus’ mouth formed the shadow of a smile.

“So what else do we need to find?”


	10. Chapter 10

Lily’s heart didn’t calm down its frantic beating until she checked Harry was steadily breathing between James and her. The bed on the cottage’s spare room was not as wide as she’d have preferred, especially not when they had to fit a ten-year-old, even considering Harry was not really big for his age and hadn’t moved at all since they went to sleep.

“We’ll have to make the bed bigger,” James whispered from Harry’s other side, as if he’d been reading her mind.

“Just in case, yes,” she agreed with a raspy voice. She loved having Harry so close to her, but it simply would not do to have him sleep with them every night.

She closed her eyes again and tried to relax. It was early, she thought. It wasn’t until about ten in the morning when the sun started hitting this part of the house, seeping through the curtains.

“How was your night?” James asked. Harry stirred, but when Lily checked his breathing was still heavy. As a baby, he didn’t use to have such rosy cheeks when he slept.

“Could’ve been worse.” Lily had had two nightmares. She had moved on from both. “Yours?”

“So-so.”

“Surprised?”

“Guess not.”

“Any plans for today?”

“Go shopping, maybe. Harry will need some more things.”

“I need to talk to you, too,” she breathed. She didn’t know where to begin to explain what she had learnt the previous night. She hadn’t even left the bed and she was already bone-tired.

“About what?” Harry’s sleepy voice squirmed his way into Lily’s ears. He was looking at her when she turned her face.

“Plenty of things. I’d like to talk to you, too, sweetheart.”

“Right.”

“Here.” James’ arm reached over Lily to take Harry’s glasses from her bedside table. “When was the last time you got your eyesight checked?”

“At school,” Harry mumbled.

“Perhaps we should get you checked again, when we go get your new glasses.”

Lily could almost hear Harry blink.

“These ones are broken, honey,” she softly reminded him. Harry took some air, as if to say something, but finally seemed to decide against it.

James had propped himself up on his elbow.

“We’ll get you everything you need, lad. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Harry bit his lip. Lily sighed and decided it was time to get up herself, too.

“What is it, honey?” she asked.

“Are you, like, really angry at me?”

“Why would we be?” She forced herself to grin, hoping a bit of humour would make Harry relax. “What have you done?”

She had meant it as a joke; she was sure her tone had been playful, or as playful as it could get before she had had a shower and drank some tea to bring moisture back to her throat.

But Harry became really still.

“Nothing!” he said. “I haven’t left this room, I didn’t—” He trailed off and stared resolutely at the ceiling.

Lily shared a glance with her husband, but he seemed as lost as she was.

“We know, Harry,” James said. “Mum was just joking.”

Harry didn’t nod, nor did he look back at them, or smile at being included in the joke. He just kept quiet, eyes up, as if waiting for something.

Lily sat up and crossed her legs. Her mind was travelling to all the terrible, terrible things she had heard the previous night that had happened to Harry. But she didn’t want to go there, because her baby needed her _in the present_ and she _wanted_ to help him.

“Harry, please. Can you look at me?” she asked, very softly.

Harry gasped and wiggled up the bed until he could rest his back on the headboard. Lily didn’t like how he kept his hands motionless on his lap.

“Can you tell me what is worrying you?”

“I’m fine, Mum.”

“Harry—” James also seemed at loss for words.

“Alright. Alright,” Lily sighed once more. She tried a gentle approach. “I just wanted to talk to you about what happened last night. But I’m not angry with you, Harry. I’m not. And even if I were, it doesn’t mean I’d love you any less, because I can’t. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you. Do you understand, Harry?”

A single tear escaped Harry’s eye before he solemnly nodded.

“Good. Good. Then—About last night—”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. He hurriedly wiped his cheek.

“That’s not—You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t mind having you here last night, right, James?”

“Not at all. We’re even making the bed bigger. No harm done, lad,” James ruffled Harry’s hair, but the child didn’t smile or react in any way. James took his hand away.

“However, Harry, I must ask. Why didn’t you want to sleep in your room? Is there something in there that you don’t like? Some bad memories, perhaps, or—?”

Harry shook his head.

“It’s a really nice room,” he said, glancing at James before settling his eyes back on Lily.

“Then what—?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Harry. I need you to tell me the truth. If there is something wrong in that room, we’ll change it. We want you to be comfortable, honey. Dad’s not going to be angry if you tell him he has too many Quidditch posters, alright?”

“What’s Quidditch?”

“Here. Let me show you.” James extended his hand and left it hanging there, waiting for Harry to pick it. Harry looked from the hand to Lily and back to the hand, but eventually decided to take it. James gently dragged him out of bed. “Quidditch, my boy, is the _most_ wonderful thing in the world.”

Lily would have rolled her eyes, but they still hadn’t figured out what had made Harry snap like he’d done the previous night, and she wasn’t sure James would be able to get Harry to tell him if they both got excited about racing brooms. It would do them both some good though, and it would allow her a moment to breathe and shower and maybe scream for a minute in the bathroom if she cast a silencing charm.

She got out of bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: vomiting

When Mum had said she was going to make her delicious toad-in-the-hole, following her own mother’s recipe, Harry had forced himself to smile.

He was a bit hungry, after all; they hadn’t eaten anything since the ice-cream Sirius had bought for them on a break during the shopping, so he supposed it could be alright. He chose to help Dad put all the clothes they’d bought him away, effectively making himself scarce and not setting foot on the kitchen even when they were finished and Sirius said _he_ ’d go help Lily.

“Yeah, he’s not in Mum’s good books right now. He’ll have to do something more than whisk batter for her to forgive him, though.” Dad winked at Harry. He then shut the curtains because it was dark outside already. He _wasn’t_ _supposed_ to do magic, Harry knew, but he switched the lights on with his wand, and then shushed him.

“What did he do?”

When Sirius had emerged from the fireplace—which according to Grandpa and Grandma was not weird and a _totally normal_ thing to do—Mum _had_ looked funny at him. But she hadn’t said anything when Sirius had told Harry he was his Godfather and that he’d join them in their shopping, nor when he’d offered to pay for some of Harry’s new clothes.

“Dunno. Mum said she’d tell me, but hasn’t yet. Well, lad. Important question, now.” Harry gulped and nodded to show he was listening. “What,” Dad started, lowering his voice, “is your opinion on baths?”

Harry blinked.

“I—don’t think I have one?”

“Let’s change that, shall we?”

“Dinner’s almost ready!” Mum shouted from the kitchen. Harry’s stomach did something funny, but he soon forgot all about it when Dad put a flossy towel on his arms.

“Take your time. We’ll charm the food to keep it warm, so—Off you go!”

The bathroom was almost as nice as Mum and Dad’s room, even after Dad had left. It wasn’t white and plain as Aunt Petunia’s, for once—it had all kinds of colourful stuff perched on every possible surface and a fat fish swimming from side to side of the curtain, which wasn’t plastic-made but of something similar to grass, or so it felt when Harry touched it.

He quickly undressed when he started smelling the thyme, and tried to remind himself how very happy he was to be able to discard Dudley’s clothes. The water was also warm and, when Harry looked around and wondered outloud if there was no soap, automatically some bubbly stuff that smelled like strawberries and salt came and helped wash him. He could have worn his new pyjama, but he decided he wanted to wear Dad’s old one again, because it felt really soft when he put it on.

He left the bathroom without looking at himself in the mirror, and followed the voices all the way to the dining room.

On the table, a great cake tin rested on a flowery kitchen towel—sausages rising like islands on a sea of pudding. Harry pinched his lips and focused all his attention in looking for an empty chair.

“Here, here, Harry!” Sirius beckoned him to sit next to him. Harry looked at Mum first, in case she didn’t want him to sit there, but she was pointedly ignoring Sirius’ grins and, with an enormous knife, had started slicing the food.

“Can I have a very small piece?” Harry asked while climbing to his chair.

He didn’t get to hear Mum’s answer, because Sirius presented him a square box, wrapped in bright, red paper and tied with a lacy ribbon.

“C’mon, open it! It’s for you!”

In Harry’s experience, surprise presents were not necessarily _nice_ things. Like that time his Year Two teacher, Ms Redding, had given him a lovely edition of Alice in Wonderland as a prize for being the first student to complete correctly a Maths test, only for it to be ripped by Aunt Marge’s dogs that same afternoon, when Uncle Vernon gave it to them because he said Harry must have cheated on the test. Or like that other time when Mrs Figg had given him an extra piece of chocolate cake after Christmas and the thing had been so stale it had caused Harry a stomach ache that had lasted for five whole days.

So he eyed warily the present, which looked decidedly nice, but could be _anything_ , more so considering Sirius was a wizard too.

“Sirius, we’re about to eat,” Mum chastised him. But Sirius only shook his head and told Harry once more to open his present. Harry took it with slightly shaky hands.

He didn’t tear the wrapping paper as Dudley normally did, because Aunt Petunia always insisted on recycling any paper used to wrap Harry’s birthday presents—last year’s had been a packet of almost-expired sliced cheese that he was allowed to add to his toast for breakfast—from one year to the next one. So he spent a few minutes just in the unwrapping, which only made him more nervous because Sirius kept looking at him with very open eyes and Mum had already served a huge portion of toad-in-the-hole on his plate.

“Do you like it?” Sirius asked excitedly when Harry finally got to see his present was a big, stuffed Snitch—that was how Dad had explained those things that moved in his pyjama were called.

Harry stared and stared and swallowed and he finally found nothing else to do that could prevent him from looking at Sirius.

“Uh—It’s a toy, right?” he asked, and couldn’t help but feel guilty at the way Sirius’ smile dropped.

“Well, it’s a Snitch!”

“Right. Uh—Thanks! It’s—It’s really cool,” Harry said, though he was sure he could’ve done a better job at convincing Sirius.

“Congratulations on being Godfather of the year,” Mum said, gesturing for Harry to remove his present from the dining table.

“That was really nice of you, Sirius,” Grandma added.

“Indeed. Shall we begin eating, then?” Grandpa smiled.

“Did you buy it today? We didn’t notice, right, Harry?” Dad took a big bite and Harry forced himself to grab his fork at least.

He could see two huge chunks of sausage floating in his portion. He decided to start by drinking a bit of juice first.

Dad kept trying to make Sirius tell when he’d got the present, while Mum kept trying to stop bringing everyone’s attention to the toy by asking Grandpa and Grandma questions about the house. Harry was too busy glaring at the sausages—in case his magic made them miraculously disappear—to pay proper attention, so when Dad asked him after a while if he wasn’t hungry he startled and dropped his fork and hurriedly took it back and put a big piece in his mouth.

The nausea came almost instantly. Harry took a long sip of juice to help drown the flavour, but it only made him feel sicker. Of course, Mum’s mother was also Aunt Petunia’s mother so they had learnt the same recipe. Harry could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes when he forced himself to swallow. The thyme was there still, filling everything, burning his tongue.

There was still too much left on his plate. He wished now he could be sent to his cupboard, like the Dursleys did since then whenever Aunt Petunia made toad-in-the-hole. But he didn’t have a cupboard in this house, and Mum would ask why he didn’t want to have the dinner she’d so happily prepared, and she was already looking funnily at him. Harry cut another piece with his knife, this time much smaller.

He closed his eyes and mentally told his stomach to just hold it and be quiet before eating it.

He shouldn’t have bothered.

He ran towards the bathroom without asking to be excused, but even so he didn’t arrive on time. He panicked a little when he saw he’d thrown up all over his stunning pyjama sleeves.

“Harry?” Mum’s steps rushed after him. Harry waited, frozen in the middle of his little puke pool. “Oh, honey. Here. It's alright.” She whispered something while weirdly moving her wand and made it all vanish. “Was that it?”

Harry didn’t know, so he took a ragged breath.

“Will you get in trouble?” he muttered, after a bit, because Mum kept waiting.

“Whatever for?” Mum sat on the closed toilet lid and took one of Harry’s trembling hands on her own.

“The magic.”

“Ah, yes. It’ll be alright. We’re in a wizarding house, after all,” she explained, like that would mean something for Harry. “Was that all of it or are you still feeling sick?” she repeated.

Harry’s tongue felt raspy, but all his mouth now had forgotten the taste of the thyme, so he figured he’d be alright.

“That was it.”

“Okay.” Mum’s hand came to rest on Harry’s cheek and he let her because he wasn’t supposed to get out of the way, but she didn’t hit or pinch or even slap him. She just touched Harry, giving him time to calm his breath and feel safe again and wonder if she’d let him hug her. “Do you know what was it? Are you allergic, or is your stomach upset, or—?”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” Harry said.

Mum pursed her lips but didn’t argue. She offered her hand and Harry took it, because even though he was really not five years old he hadn’t got his chance to have his hand held when he’d been actually that age, so he didn’t care.

Mum took him back to the dining room.

It still smelled like thyme all over and Harry wrinkled his nose, begging his stomach to just behave and stop getting all crumpled. Grandpa must have seen something, or maybe read his mind because he waved his wand and all the food started floating still on its plates back to the kitchen.

Harry shuddered and let go of Mum’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. He didn’t dare to look at his new socks because Uncle Vernon never liked it if Harry didn’t look at him when he apologized, but he wasn’t brave enough to look at Mum or Dad’s eyes, so he just looked at a random point behind Grandma’s ear.

“Harry?” Mum sounded like she was getting worried. Harry didn’t want to worry her, or to bother anyone else. He wished they’d just tell him what his punishment was so he could get on with it.

He swallowed, trying not to flinch at how awfully his mouth tasted.

Dad turned his chair and sat opposite Harry.

“Okay, okay. Now, why don’t we talk about this? Can you look at me, please” Harry did. He forced his hands to remain calm and relaxed by his sides. “Now. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I threw up,” he said, sobbing a bit, which was actually pretty embarrassing.

He gasped when he felt Mum’s hand on his shoulder. She actually pulled a little and made him rest his temple on her soft sweater while she side-hugged him.

“It’s because of the thyme,” Harry admitted. “Aunt—Aunt Petunia always used to say I didn’t add enough thyme so that time I put more and more and they had guests from Uncle Vernon’s job coming for dinner so there was just a lot of sausages and—” He made himself shut up.

He knew he shouldn’t keep talking and hoped everyone deemed it enough. He checked—Sirius was thoughtfully nodding and Dad’s mouth had taken a funny turn towards the floor.

He felt a bit guilty. He wasn’t lying, not really. He wasn’t telling the whole story either, but it _was_ how it had begun. Harry knew they wouldn’t believe him anyway if he told the truth, and he had deserved it a little that time—even so, it was always better if he told the truth or a part of it because, after his punishments, he often forgot which lies he’d told and mixed everything up. And being caught in lies only led to more and worse punishments.

“We used to have a little pot with fresh thyme by the kitchen window,” Mum whispered then. Harry looked up—from below, her ginger eyelashes looked darker. “Dad would water it too much and Mum would get angry at him, but somehow the thyme survived and there was always enough to go with the toad-in-the-hole. It was my favourite food when I was little, you know? It sounded funny, I suppose. That’s why I made it today, but I didn’t know—” Mum looked at Harry and squeezed him more against her. Harry was glad she did.

“It’s fine, Mum.”

“I’ll throw away every last bit of thyme in the house, I’ll—”

“Lily, dear.” Grandma interrupted. Both Mum and Harry looked, surprised, at her. But Grandma just served herself more firewhiskey, as the drinks hadn’t been removed from the table.

“Mother?” Dad asked. Grandma took his glass and served him more alcohol, too.

Mum’s breathing did something funny, which Harry only noticed because she was so close, but when he looked back at her, her face was as nice as always and she even smiled a little when she kneeled before him. Only then Harry realised how he’d managed to ruin his mother’s favourite food for everyone, and how it wasn’t even the first time he did so.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you didn’t have to take away everyone’s food, I’m fine, I don’t have to be here, you could just—” he wept, knowing he was just making himself look like a fool in front of everyone.

“Harry, was it really just the thyme?” Mum said, soft and sweet, which only made it all worse.

“I—I don’t know what you mean—”

Mum nodded.

“Harry, sweetheart, please stop lying to us.”

Harry’s lip trembled.

“I’m not—Not lying, not—”

He wasn’t. It was true. It was all true.

He shut his mouth and waited for everyone to get angry and start shouting and throwing things at his head.

But instead of hitting him, Mum _hugged_ him! Harry just couldn’t resist the impulse to hold onto her with as much strength as he could. She shushed him when he started crying for real, and kissed the top of his head and told him she wasn’t angry and didn’t like him any less even if he wasn’t going to eat her toad-in-the-hole.

Harry was suddenly reminded of something Mums were supposed to do that he hadn’t tested yet. If Dudley did something awful, and he did something awful at least once a day, Aunt Petunia always forgave him. She listened and nodded and cursed everyone else involved except from her Dudders and bought him chocolate and video games to make him forget about those horrible people who were just jealous of him.

“Do you really wanna hear?” Harry carefully asked Mum, between sobs, very softly and just by her ear.

It turned out Mums were something brilliant to have.

“Of course, my love,” Mum said. “I want to hear everything, especially the things that hurt you. I want to know so that I can protect you from them.”

“But I’m fine.”

“I love you, Harry.”

She took him towards her chair, which was next to Dad’s. She sat down still holding him, and patiently waited in silence until Harry made up his mind. He finally rushed to speak when she pointedly cleared her throat the moment Sirius started joking about getting more food.

“About the thyme—it was true,” Harry said, because he didn’t want Mum nor Dad, nor Grandma and Grandpa, and not even Sirius, to think he was a liar. “That day I was cooking because there were many people to come and Aunt Petunia was grooming Dudley up in his room so I was by myself in the kitchen. And everything was fine, and I’d added a lot of thyme,” he repeated, but Mum didn’t interrupt to tell him to hurry up and finish. “And I just couldn’t see the numbers in the oven properly, because Uncle Vernon had taken my glasses the week before when they’d locked me up in the cupboard because I’d broken Uncle Vernon’s favourite bourbon glass when doing the washing up. So, yeah, I was just a bit dizzy but it was all right—until Aunt Petunia yelled everything had to be ready in half an hour! And the food wasn’t cooked yet so I just put more heat in the oven but I don’t know how much and—well—it got burnt.” Harry swallowed, because he could still smell it. “Like really, really burnt. And Aunt Petunia was really, really angry because she had to take their guests to a _restaurant_ —y’know, Aunt Petunia _hates_ restaurants, she says—” Harry trailed off because he remembered Mum and Aunt Petunia had grown up together and Mum probably knew Aunt Petunia better than he did. “Anyway, so Dudley had too much pudding at dessert and so when they came back they were all upset already and I—I had been hiding in my cupboard because it’s always best when Uncle Vernon drinks, and he always drinks when they have guests. So huh, I—came out, and I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I only did it because I hadn’t eaten in a long time and my cramps were getting, like, _very_ bad and I asked Aunt Petunia if I could eat something and she—she—”

“What did she do, Harry?” Mum’s question was kind and her hands were gentle and kept drawing circles in Harry’s back, so he just told her.

“She made me eat the burnt toad-in-the-hole. And there was _a lot_ but she said I wouldn’t say she starved me in her house, so she made me eat it all until I threw up in the kitchen floor, and she didn’t let me go get cleaned up until I’d finished and—”

“The minging bitch!”

“Sirius, if you’d _please_ refrain from using such vocabulary,” Grandma frowned.

“Not in the dining table,” Grandpa added.

“Please go on, Harry,” Dad said.

“Well, that’s it, really. It—it all tasted bad, like burnt and thyme, and I thought I’d never finish it! But I did. Eventually. And she never let me cook it again, so anyway it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t know it was your favourite food, though,” he said, looking at Mum.

Mum shook her head and kissed Harry’s temples, and his nose, and his two cheeks, which were again covered in snot and tears. Perhaps it was another Mum thing that Harry’d been unaware—to enjoy kissing your children’s tears. Pretty disgusting, if you asked Harry.

Grandpa went to the kitchen and took some fish out of a box that looked like a fridge but that wasn’t a fridge. He and Grandma multiplied the fish so that there was enough for everyone.

Harry was allowed to eat next to Mum, and he promptly sat in her lap again when they’d both finished.

That night, nobody suggested to send Harry back to sleep in Dad’s old room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually pretty hard to write, but it's finally out. so many plot lines to juggle!


	12. Chapter 12

Before the castle had vomited hordes of naïve and gullible students, who happily trotted towards the Hogwarts Express that would take them home to their loving families, Severus had spent his first holidays morning just wishing for time to go faster so they all would just _go_. Of course, when the train had finally left and the only students remaining were those too busy studying to bother with familial obligations and those too luckless in life to be subjected to said pointless commitments, Severus had felt the usual pangs of jealousy and loneliness and utter desperation that he was oh so very familiar with. So he clenched his stomach and went to the library to read on moronic Hogwarts Founders who left their jewellery laying around to get lost, muttering under his breath curses towards whatever entity in the universe had decided it was a good idea to send them all back in time but not the one who had the knowledge they needed. Or, rather, to send him back but with the body and mind of a prepubescent child who didn’t think it necessary to read his textbooks before coming to his first Potions class.

He was ignoring Irma Pince’s dirty look when she discovered him soiling her precious library with his mere presence when he suddenly remembered the identity of the Ravenclaw ghost. So he snorted and left, not before looking the librarian straight in the eye.

“Perhaps, Madame Pince,” he spat her name, “instead of glaring at random students you should admonish Miss Briar Barley, who has been eating chocolate frogs by the window in the second corridor since she was sorted into Hufflepuff in 1971.”

Only a dedicated librarian could have shrieked without making noise as masterfully as Irma did, already rushing to correct such an aberration committed in her kingdom.

Severus ignored her and marched towards the Ravenclaw tower, with the same enthusiasm he would have felt if he’d had to pluck a living hippogriff’s feathers. Necessary task, on the one hand, because everyone knew how important living hippogriff’s feathers were in the making of terribly useful potions, such as the Angel’s Trumpet Draught; but completely unpleasant, hence the high price of such ingredient in the market.

“Ah, Severus.” When confronted with the sight of the one and only Albus Dumbledore, however, every other task in the world seemed as delightful as a calm walk by the sea. “I have actually been looking for you.”

“How fortunate for you that I have not left the castle, nor I plan on doing so in the near future, Albus.”

“Yes, of course. Extremely so.” Albus joined his hands—his two completely functional hands—, effectively hiding them inside his offensively shining pink sleeves.

“Well?” Severus snapped, after a full minute of waiting.

“Shall we talk in my office?”

Severus scoffed, but nodded and followed Albus through the Hogwarts corridors and stairs, dismissing the curious looks the Headmaster gained by parading his discordant figure next to Severus’ slouchy one.

“I have things to do, Albus,” Severus said, once the door had closed behind them.

“I’m sure you do, and I’m glad you’re doing them.”

A portrait coughed. Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“As you should be,” he finally conceded. Albus smiled and offered Severus a sit, which he promptly declined.

“As circumstances were quite unfavourable for having a conversation the last time we saw each other—and I am not actually referring to last night, which provided a wonderful opportunity to bond with old acquaintances that I am sure you took advantage of, my dear Severus—, there are factually several issues we never had time to address.”

“Because it was beneath your portrait to provide actually useful information, that is,” Severus leered.

“Because, as my portrait surely agreed, you were already under extreme pressure at the time and surely did not need to burden yourself with even more preoccupations.”

“As beguiling as it always is to be told how much you worry about my well-being, we both know that is nowhere near the truth, so let us please, Albus, go straight to the point.”

Albus’ smile was perfectly in place when he produced a piece of parchment and summoned a quill to start scribbling. He passed a brief text for Severus to read once he’d finished.

“This,” he said, “was found at the place young Harry and I were while Draco Malfoy was welcoming Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It was actually inside the fake Horcrux we retrieved, protected by some quite nasty but clever precautions that someone had taken a great deal of effort not to alter, when they decided to sabotage our dearest enemy’s plans.”

“Someone—R.A.B.?” Severus read.

“Precisely.”

“Do you know who that is?”

“I did not, at first. I was rather occupied at the moment, you understand, and back then I knew I had placed my trust in the right person, as young Harry managed to find and destroy the real locket.”

“Quite,” Severus said. Only then he remembered he hadn’t actually eaten lunch, and he let his wobbly legs rest by sitting on the previously offered chair.

“Ah, you must forgive my forgetfulness. Lemon drop?”

Severus looked at Albus without bothering to hide his exhaustion.

“Sweets are not even close to enough to make up for what we did to the boy, Albus,” he said.

Albus sobered up.

“You are right, of course. What we sacrificed was too much, indeed, and not an easy thing to forgive. We would be lucky if Lily Potter lets us look at Harry anytime soon.”

“She won’t.”

“That will be a problem, as I am sure you have already gathered.”

Severus blinked. Albus couldn’t—he was _not_ saying what Severus thought he was saying.

He stood up.

“I will not send Harry Potter to death again. I will not, and you will not do such a thing either. Promise me, Albus. Promise me, and do not even think about a way to break that promise.”

Somehow, he kept his wand from trembling when he pointed it directly between Albus Dumbledore’s eyes.

“It might not be necessary. Lily has not died yet—Harry might not even be a Horcrux for our Voldemort.” Severus did not manage to keep himself from flinching. He lowered his wand. “It is of utmost importance, however, that we reunite and destroy the rest of Horcruxes, and soon, before he realises what we are planning.”

“That’s what we agreed on yesterday.”

“Yes.”

Severus looked down and found the little note, R.A.B.’s defiant message copied in green ink.

“You now know who that is.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. And you do know him, too. This was written in 1979, by a young Death Eater who was trusted by his Dark Lord and whom he betrayed, which led him to death.”

Severus had not heard the tale about Albus’ last trip until the previous night, when he had recounted it for Lily. He hadn’t mentioned that the locket was a fake then, though. He hadn’t said—

“1979?” Severus whispered. “It’s Regulus, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Regulus hid the real Horcrux?”

“Yes, it would appear so. I do not know where, but Harry destroyed it, so he must have found it.”

“Of course he found it, he had it in the forest—”

“I have already asked Phineas Nigellus Black, my famed predecessor, but he has no recollection of the hiding place of the locket.”

Severus sat down once more.

“So what? It’s 1975, do we even know if the Dark Lord has made his Horcruxes yet?” The impossibility of their task downed onto him for the third or fourth time that same day. Every time, Severus found it a little more difficult to keep on breathing.

“He has, I should think. I also believe young Regulus does not have the Horcrux in his possession as of yet, but I must ask you a favour, Severus.”

“No.”

“But you must.”

“No.” Had he had the energy, Severus would have simply stormed away from Albus’ office. As it was, he just remained sitting and counting in his head in the fruitless hope that, by the time he reached one thousand, he could move once again and continue dragging himself though life.

“Severus.” Albus Dumbledore had apparently never been taught the meaning of the word _no_. “You must befriend Regulus Black. You must discover where he kept the locket hidden until Harry found it in 1996 or early 1997.”

“You are a crazy old fool.” Severus’ teenage voice did not sound as deep and low as he had intended, but he hoped the glare and pause made his point clear. “Regulus is already my friend,” he declared, directing his utmost outrage towards his legs, so that they would support his weight and efficiently take him out of that damn room.

“Severus, please forgive—”

Before leaving, Severus still turned back one more time.

“One would have thought,” he said, “you would get tired of making the same mistake, over and over.”

He descended the stairs fuelled only by his utter need to get away from there, to put distance between that wrecked man and himself.

He didn’t want to think about what he’d just heard. He didn’t want to think about the _implications_ of what he’d just heard.

He just—

He wanted—

“Severus!” Minerva’s voice reminded Severus to breathe. “Severus, are you alright?”

He could have lied to her, but he did not see the point in that anymore.

“No, of course not! Albus is still his old self, meddling and turning everything into a game, plotting and conspiring to his soul’s content.” Severus didn’t keep talking because he sounded too much like his own students when they came to his office complaining about injustices such as other professors taking points from them.

“Severus, what—? It’s been a long time since I last saw you this—dishevelled.”

Severus gritted his teeth and took a second to inhale from his nose.

“My appearance should be of no concern to you, Minerva. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.”

“How could I possibly do that, Severus, when in the height of everything you were always the most composed of us all?” Minerva asked, exhibiting a pathos on his behalf that did not suit her face at all.

Severus forced his spine to do its job and made himself stand as tall as he got, in his fifteen year old body.

“Minerva, no matter whatever the hell bloody Harry Potter may have told you about me, it _is_ time you stop with these nonsensical apologies and frippery. I’d rather you stopped walking on eggshells around me, or you might crash.”

To Severus’ surprise, Minerva smiled warmly.

“It takes more than, uh— _eggshells_ , for me to crash, Severus.” She then proceeded to pat Severus’ arm, not once but _twice_ , before leaving him alone and dumbfounded in the corridor, not far from where he’d had to jump from a window to escape her, on his last night as Headmaster of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept typing Prince when trying to write Irma Pince's surname, which was five (5) different kinds of weird :/


	13. Chapter 13

In Lily’s first life, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter had died before they’d got the chance to meet Harry. She’d known them quite well, she reckoned, since after her wedding she’d moved in with them and James, because despite what one may think, war times were really not the best times to go around estate hunting.

Not that she would have just let James buy her a house—she’d intended to find a job and save some money before investing together with him in something they could both pass on to their children someday. Then, Harry had been born, which was of course lovely but a bit untimely, so Lily had told herself she just needed to put her plans on hold for a year or so until her baby could be left in daycare—she thought Muggles did these things best—and she could finally start her career. Then, they’d gone into hiding, which was again not so bad, because both James and Harry had been there, and they’d get visits from their friends all the time, and it would have been terribly boring had they not had an overactive toddler to run after. Then, they’d been betrayed by Peter Pettigrew and died, and left Harry alone. So Lily had not contributed much to Harry’s inheritance

But none of that mattered much, because now James’ parents had a chance to meet their grandson and Lily had a chance to watch him become enamoured with Fleamont’s storytelling voice and Euphemia’s glass-cleaning spells. She’d be content to just look and look at Harry until his cheeks became as red as his ears were getting from being too close to the lit fireplace.

“Lily, love?” James’ whisper came from the kitchen. With a sigh, Lily stood from her armchair. She kissed Harry’s forehead when she passed by him, both because she could and to try and calm him down before he started getting all worried. His eyes had jumped at her when she’d moved.

“Be right back, sweetheart,” she assured him, squishing his shoulders before leaving.

“Now, have you ever heard of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump,” she heard Fleamont say, wishing she could abandon herself to the story too, as she’d never heard of it either.

“What’s wrong?” she asked James instead.

“Nothing, really.” He seemed happy to see her, because his welcome kiss left her panting for air and even a little light-headed.

“Just missed me?” she teased.

James hummed and buried his nose in her neck, not unlike Harry had taken to do as well.

“We need to talk, I believe,” he said.

“This is _not_ talking, dear,” she gasped as he sucked slightly at the skin below her ear.

“Not quite.” But he didn’t seem to want to forego the kissing to start doing the talking, so eventually Lily decided she had to be the mature one, seeing as she was actually two months older than her husband, and gently pushed him away to look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong, James?” she repeated.

James smirked at her, licking his lips in a shameless promise Lily was not sure was ever going to be fulfilled, regarding how Harry refused to sleep anywhere Lily was not.

“You tell me. You said yesterday we needed to talk. So, by al means—talk.” He did a ridiculous flourishing gesture that would’ve had Lily cackling and kissing his stupid grin away, were it not for the very serious facts she had indeed not yet discussed with him.

She forced her face to sober up and lifted a finger to wordlessly tell James to follow her. They made sure Harry was still occupied in the living room before going to their bedroom and closing the door. Lily recovered her wand from her bedside table and cast four different silencing spells before motioning for James to sit on the recently enlarged bed.

“What _is_ wrong?” he asked, and for some reason his mirrored question made Lily want to cry.

“Nothing is right, more like,” she whispered, taking a minute to centre herself. She sat down next to James, her knee pressed against his, and started talking.

James stopped interrupting her after the third time, when she threatened to hex him into silence until she’d finished. She then took his hand into hers and forced herself to leave her wand lying on the bed covers, so as not to accidentally set the room on fire out of pure rage.

“That—That is a lot,” he said, after she’d told him everything she herself had been told.

“I think there might be more. I’d have to ask Remus, Minerva or Severus, though. They’re the ones who seemed to know the most.”

“Do we really want to know?” James whispered. He looked lost, staring blankly at the wall.

Lily knew she was being unfair, because she’d had two more days than him to process all that information, but she suddenly couldn’t stand to be sharing space with someone who could even suggest to choose _ignorance_ over the chance to help Harry.

She stood up and grabbed her wand. She didn’t leave it back in her drawer.

“Don’t you _ever_ ask anything like that again,” she spat at him, before leaving the room.

Harry’s eyes found her anxiously when she entered the living room again. He stood up, leaving his grandfather’s story hanging in the middle of a sentence, and plummeted onto her. She hugged him back.

The fire roared and Harry’s face burrowed even more into her sweater.

Lily found herself surprisingly happy to see Remus’ face asking for permission to come through.

“Mr Lupin, how good to see you. Please do come in, lad. You’re already acquainted with my newly-acquired grandson, I trust?”

Harry’s head turned a little in Fleamont’s direction as Remus was entering the house.

“Not really, no,” he said. To which Fleamont shrieked in what Lily wished was mock outrage and proceeded to make introductions in a very posh way she hoped wouldn’t rub onto her son. Fleamont insisted Remus and Harry had to shake hands, though, so Harry was made to leave her lap.

Remus’ face kept trying to maintain a neutral smile, but Lily could see it was not as easy for him as he made it seem. She could relate.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Lupin,” Harry said. He was trying to imitate Fleamont’s classy tone but he didn’t quite manage to banish his twinkly accent.

“Likewise, Harry. You can call me Remus, though. Or Moony, if you’d like.”

“Is Moony, like, short for something? Harry isn’t. Sometimes people ask, like, if it’s short for Harold. Or Henry, once. But it’s not. Just Harry. Y’know? But Moony sounds like short for—well. Something like Moonard. Are you secretly a Moonard? I could keep a secret. Y’know?”

Lily would have gladly giggled at the look on Remus’ face, had it not been for the fact that the fire roared again, to let through the one and only Albus Dumbledore.

“You are not currently welcome in this house, Albus,” James said, with a certain bark in his tone Lily had only seen him directing to Death Eaters and the general population of Slytherin house, back in Hogwarts. She agreed with the sentiment, though. She didn’t waste any energy in pretending she wasn’t putting herself between Harry and the Headmaster.

Remus cleared his throat before Albus had a chance to speak. He kneeled before Harry, who had hurriedly grabbed Lily’s hand, probably sensing the sudden tension in the room.

“It would be fun to be called Moonard, but it’s just Remus. However, I do have a son who is called Edward but goes by Teddy.”

“That’s cool,” Harry said.

“You do?” Lily asked. A quick glance in James’ direction confirmed he was gaping, not unlike a hungry hippo. She knew Harry would’ve smirked at the comparison, so she filed it to tell him later.

“Well, yes. Not yet, though. He was just born in 1998, so—” Remus’ face lit with a smile. Lily’s heart clenched because he almost never smiled.

“Congratulations,” she said.

“Harry, if I could have a word—” Dumbledore said, interrupting all pleasantries.

Harry’s eyes deferred to Lily’s before answering. She shook her head.

“No, you can not. Now, if you just say what you’ve come here to say, we could go back to our evening,” she icily said.

“Harry, dear. Why don’t we go help Grandma with dinner?” Fleamont suggested, but Harry shook his head and clutched Lily’s arm more fiercely. She gently caressed his hair.

“I understand,” Dumbledore said. “I merely wished to know if you were settling down alright, and inform you that Remus and Minerva have been working on comprehending this unexpected surprise we have found ourselves involved in.”

“Good,” James said.

“And, Harry? Do not fret, my child. We are also working in making everything alright again.”

“If you’ll leave now, then. Headmaster,” Lily hollered.

“What does he mean? Mum, what does he mean?” Harry’s voice sounded distressed. Lily would’ve pointed her wand at the Headmaster’s head, if she hadn’t been holding her child with both hands. “I don’t want to go back to you being dead! Mum? Mum, you said you wouldn’t leave! Dad promised!”

Harry’s howls didn’t mask James’ threats towards Dumbledore if he did not leave immediately.

Lily did not trust anyone to keep Harry safe—not even herself. So she didn’t pick him up, as he was obviously demanding, until she saw Dumbledore disappear between the flames. She vaguely heard Remus ask James to bring Harry tomorrow to Hogwarts the following day, to run some tests.

“We’ll see about that,” she hissed, before her idiotic husband could mindlessly agree. She carried Harry’s sobbing form towards her bedroom and whispered loving words into his ear until his breathing had calmed down.

“I don’t care what anybody says, Harry,” she told him, once she could be sure he was in a state fit for listening. “I won’t let them take you away, you hear me?”

She saw Euphemia’s somewhat displeased face appear briefly at the door.

“Dinner is ready, my dears.” Lily nodded, but Euphemia’s frown didn’t disappear.

“Are you hungry?” Lily asked Harry. She carefully wiped his tears with a handkerchief she summoned from the wardrobe.

“Maybe? I could eat, I think.”

“Alright. Let’s go, then.”

Harry didn’t let her neck go, so she just supported his weight from under his legs.

“Mum?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. I love you a lot.”


	14. Chapter 14

Breakfast in the Great Hall had never ceased to be both a welcoming treat, for coffee and food always made the absurdity of mornings slightly more bearable, and a challenging test for Severus’ patience, as for the most part the Great Hall tended to be full of other people. People who, coincidentally, were never shy to express how very _wonderful_ they found the idea of sharing a meal with other individuals of peer intelligence.

If Severus’ forbearance had already been quite thin when he’d only had to pretend to enjoy his fellow professors’ company—extraordinary feat in itself, considering Albus’ tendency to hire plonkers such as Rubeus Hagrid and Dolores Umbridge, each of them one of a kind—, the exceptional effort he made not to snap at every other student in the Slytherin table for the sheer stupidities their mouths were senselessly uttering had him practically running out of the door the moment he’d finished his food.

Not that it did him any good—he didn’t collide with Minerva, as she entered the Great Hall herself, only thanks to quick reflexes and a prompt casting of a hovering charm on the book she was carrying.

“Good morning.” If Severus hadn’t known Minerva, he’d have said she had snorted. That fact alone deigned an answer, so he scoffed a mildly polite greeting and attempted to dodge her on his way to the library. “Lily is bringing Harry to Hogwarts today,” she said.

He paused. He then turned and arched an eyebrow.

“Whatever for?”

He couldn’t for the love of Merlin imagine that even Minerva, blind as she was when it came to correctly assessing the true magical ability of her Gryffindors, would be actually excited to have an unschooled Potter traipsing around Hogwarts.

“Remus and I have been studying the possible causes for the time travel. We’re hoping Mr Potter can clear a few aspects for us.”

“Your optimism truly fascinates me, Minerva.” Severus arranged his robe sleeves before speaking again. “Care to tell me why you’ve thought that might be of _any_ interest for me?”

“Oh, please, Severus. Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said, eyeing him from above her glasses before entering the Great Hall with an agility she could only have gained from her animagus form.

Severus stood there for precisely one minute before recovering and swiftly regaining his stroll towards the library. He procured himself a book on time travel theory he apathetically flipped through, before checking it out from a somehow affronted Irma Pince and setting course for the Transfiguration classroom.

The meeting was in full attendance—Minerva was of course there, and even dared to smile at him when he entered without knocking. Potter —Harry, as James was not there— sat on a student desk and Lupin scribbled on a piece of parchment from the desk next to it, seemingly very interested in what the child had to say. On the desk on her son’s other side, Lily raised her eyes from the thick book she was reading when Severus entered, but turned back to her reading a moment later. Sirius Black was there too, but Severus all but ignored him.

It took him a second to realize he did not really have an excuse to have barged in on this disgustingly Gryffindorish reunion, and another one to come up with something to say off the top of his head.

“Minerva,” he said. “Could you please enlighten me about the exact nature of your research?”

“Please do take a sit, Severus,” she nodded to a desk by the door Severus emphatically ignored. “We were merely asking Mr Potter some questions about what he remembers.”

As if on cue, Lupin, who seemed to have decided it was beneath him to acknowledge Severus’ presence in any way, cleared his throat.

“So, Harry. Did you ever do any accidental magic before coming to Hogwarts?”

“What d’you mean, _accidental_ magic? Like in a car crash?” Severus did not know if he was more shattered by Potter’s inability to answer such a simple question with a relevant answer or by the inevitable childish ring of his voice. “Aunt Petunia did tell me my parents had died in a car crash, but they’re alive now, so it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Severus could see how Lily’s fingers turned white by the force she was gripping their book with.

“Why do you care about this research, anyway?” Black drawled. Severus only guessed by the evident contempt in his voice he was talking to him and not his precious godson, who kept babbling nonsense in Lupin’s direction. “Dumbledore assigned you with other tasks. Why aren’t you doing them? You won’t hinder our progress here, if that’s what you got in mind, you—”

“Mutt,” Severus interrupted, not having the patience to stand such balderdash for a single second more. “Should it ever concern you what I do or do not do, I am sure Albus himself will be amenable to answer any question you might pose. Not that I trust you to remember the way to his office, considering how the last time you were inside this castle you managed to fail to capture a single, unarmed rat—”

“Now, Snivellus!” Sirius snapped, readying his wand. Severus himself didn’t raise his because Lily’s warning look stopped him on his heels.

“I am intrigued, too,” Lupin said then, looking at Severus for the first time since he’d entered the room. He was evidently displeased at having to interact with him—even a dunderhead of the likes of Harry Potter must have noticed, because he was looking at Severus too, wide eyed.

“Coincidentally,” Severus began, when after a few seconds Lily hadn’t dismissed him from her immediate presence,“I am quite interested in the process that took place to render us in the place we have found ourselves at. It is—It is actually related to the field I am currently studying, as it would be extremely beneficial for everyone present if Regulus Black regained the memories he has presently lost.”

Predictably, Black lost it the moment he heard his brother's name. Severus was ready for his attack and a flick of his wand was enough to dismiss the hex sent his way and respond in kind.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” What Severus had not predicted was for Lily herself to stand up and collect _both_ their wands, with a calmly furious expression in her face.

“Why on earth? Are you completely out of your mind? He’s evil, can’t you see? Evil! Reg died, and you just want to torture him, Merlin only knows what you’ll gain from it!” Black’s wails were quietened by the certainty Severus felt in his bones that Lily would never accept to sit and talk with him if he kept doing such things in front of her.

He swallowed and made himself a promise to stop antagonizing her in such a flailing way. His pleading look did nothing to soften her stern look—she didn’t loosen her grip on their wands either.

“There’s more than that at stake here, Black,” he whispered, still eyeing Lily. Regulus certainly deserved to get the chance to explain himself and his choices regarding his betrayal of the Dark Lord. Regulus deserved to know, too.

Pity deserving and getting were not often hand in hand.

Lupin’s chair screeched as it scratched the floor when he stood up.

“I think we’ve got everything we needed for now. Thanks a lot, Harry.” Potter hummed. “Lily, would you mind stepping away with me for a moment? I think Albus will want to be part of this conversation.”

“Then the Headmaster can come here and you can tell us all at once,” Lily said.

But then a whimper left Potter’s mouth and Lily’s eyes went immediately to him, and some silent conversation must have occurred between Potter’s beseeching pout and Lily’s firm smile, because she nodded and went to caress his boisterous hair before following Remus towards the door.

“Mum?” The boy was apparently not happy with that solution either, because it took a stern reassurance on Lily’s part that she would indeed be right back _and_ a promise from Lupin that he would not kidnap his mother from more than a few minutes for him to reluctantly sit down back on his desk. Severus wondered if he was considering running after his mother to cling to her like a koala bear again, forcing Lily with such puerile tantrums to remain in the same room as him.

But Potter let her go when Lily asked Minerva to keep an eye in all of them. Severus snorted, because she had taken his wand and Black’s with her, so there was not really much they could do in her absence.

“Don’t worry, Lily. I can control the boys alone,” Minerva said, obviously rejoicing in the damage her badly concealed sarcasm was causing Severus’ teeth, which would probably need a visit to Poppy by the end of the day, if he continued grinding them with so much force for many more minutes.

Severus was badly startled from his thoughts and his rentless staring contest with Black when Poppy Pomfrey herself—well, her head, as it was a firecall—appeared on Minerva’s fireplace.

“Minerva, sorry to interrupt,” she said, a little out of breath, which made her sound not sorry at all. “I have currently five Gryffindors pouring their insides out in my infirmary, and two of them are first years. If you’ll be so kind as to come through to calm them down I could maybe convince them to take the potions they require to stop vomiting all over the place. Yes, that goes for you as well, Miss McDonald!” Without waiting for Minerva’s answer, Poppy’s face left the fire.

“Ugh,” Potter said, which summarized the situation quite well. It brought Minerva’s attention to the boy, as she was grabbing already the Floo powder.

“Mr Potter,” she said. The boy straightened his spine. “You seem like a responsible young man. Please do me a favour and make sure these two behave, yes?”

“Minerva—” Severus’ protest died before he’d had the chance to voice it, lost in Minerva’s unforgiving stare.

“Mr Potter is in charge,” she said, throwing the powder into the fire.

“Sure. Ehm—Professor,” Potter added, when Minerva had already disappeared. Black huffed in a half-snort. Severus could relate.

“Good one, kid,” Black said.

Potter didn’t mirror his smile.

“So,” he said instead, “why’s my Mum angry at you?”

Black snickered and regally sat down in Lupin’s vacated desk.

“She’s not really angry, lad. She’s just a bit—upset, I’d say. Nothing you should worry about, mate.”

Potter frowned and Severus was glad not all was lost as the boy did not seem to have been convinced by Black’s blatant lies.

“Is she angry at you, too?” he asked then, looking at Severus, who forced himself to maintain a perfectly blank face.

Not wanting to follow in Black’s steps in the slightest, he answered, “That would be the case, yes.”

“What’s your name again?” Potter asked.

Black snickered again and made Severus bite his tongue not to start throwing wandless curses at him that very instant. His laughter died soon, though, because Minerva’s face appeared in the fireplace a moment after.

“Mr Black,” she started, which considering Black’s sobering face did not entail pleasant prospects, “there are several witnesses that have assured me you might be involved in the current state of affairs at Madam Pomfrey’s office.” Severus would have celebrated how Minerva’s steely tone sliced through Black’s confident stance, hadn’t he been not so long ago the very target of her disappointed glare.

He wasn’t about to start feeling sympathy towards Sirius Black, however, so he focused on answering Potter’s question while Black was summoned to Poppy’s office.

“I am Professor Severus Snape,” he said.

Potter scrunched his nose. He kept talking before Severus could admonish him; he did not interrupt the child as a result of his recent promise to Lily.

“Bit weird how this works, right? You look only a bit older than me, but bet you’re at least as old as my Mum and Dad, right? Not that they’re all that old themselves either, y’know?” He grinned and Severus did not know what to do with that, so he frowned. “Aunt Petunia was older than Mum anyway. Hey,” he suddenly said, for some reason putting Severus on alert, “were you dead too?”

Severus didn’t allow himself to relax.

“Yes.”

Potter nodded.

“And what do you teach?”

Severus narrowed his eyes.

“Potions.”

“Hm—Grandpa said something about them the other day. So what’s it like?”

“What’s _what_ like, Potter? Care to elaborate?”

“Potions. What’re they like? Is it just like you throw stuff at a cauldron and it explodes? That’d be _so_ neat.”

“You most certainly do not do that. It’s a fine art, potions. There are special ways to cut ingredients and each of them has different properties that one has to take into account when adding them to the mix—” Severus trailed off, not knowing why he was both simplifying his beginning-of-first-year speech or bothering to explain the intricacies of potion making to a muttonhead that could not distinguish the art from _exploding stuff_.

“But there _are_ cauldrons.”

“Yes, there are,” Severus stiffly said.

“That sounds really cool.”

“Cool,” Severus repeated, fighting really hard to keep the mocking sneer from his face, all in honour of his promise to Lily.

“So you taught me, right? before you died, I mean,” Potter said out of the blue. He had started swinging his legs under the table. “When I went to Hogwarts instead of coming here.”

“This _is_ Hogwarts, you daft child.”

Potter rolled his eyes. Severus clenched his fists.

“You know what I mean.” Severus _did_ know, he had just not expected Potter to follow.

“Yes,” he conceded.

“Was I good? At potions.”

“Not particularly.”

“Hm—That’s alright, I guess. Aunt Petunia won’t like it if I’m too good at this _magic_ thing.”

“Wouldn’t,” Severus corrected. At Potter’s bewildered glance, he added, “she _wouldn’t,_ not won’t.”

“When I go back, I mean,” Potter explained.

“Like your mother would let you go back, you complete barmy child.”

Potter shrugged and turned to look at the fire. It felt actually rather strange, not having him thwart every single step Severus made. But this Potter did not really hate Severus, he realized, and he did not hate the child either. He had no reason, after all. Lily was alive. He had died. The child was being groomed for his death as well. But he had Lily now to protect him—Lily, who was infinitely more willing and suitable for the task than Severus had ever been. He could step away now and let the child be. He was not his professor either—he found himself not really minding conversing with him. This child knew nothing. He wondered if it was better to leave him like that, or if it would be more charitable to try and give him his memories and experiences back, so that he could appreciate better what he had now.

He did not possess the answer to that question. He squirmed almost imperceptibly, uneasy because Potter’s case was not so different from Regulus’.

Potter caught him from the corner of his eye and looked back at him.

“Yeah, that’s what Mum said.”

Severus prided himself of an almost flawless memory, that had allowed him to keep at the bottom of his heart both his every interaction with Lily Evans and every insult his father ever threw at him. Both Albus’ instructions and every detail from a meeting with the Dark Lord. But he suddenly found himself at loss, almost as if he’d _Obliviated_ himself of the conversation he was still having with Harry Potter. Severus blinked and forced himself to pay attention. He may have looked like one, but he wasn’t a volatile teenager anymore.

He grunted, to show the child he was listening. Potter tilted his head. Severus noticed the robes he was wearing fitted him better than everything else he’d ever seen the child wearing, including his school uniform.

“But that’s not how the world works, y’know?”


	15. Chapter 15

Godric’s Hollow was truly a lovely place, and it looked even lovelier from the kitchen’s window—past the small backyard, you could see glimpses of the street and the distant thread of smoke that emerged from the neighbours’ chimneys. And behind the houses and the fountain in the square and the trees and the last farmhouses, a brief whisper of the faraway mountains. You couldn’t see mountains from Cokeworth, no matter how far from the centre you went—you just saw the polluted river and the red bricks every cluster of buildings seemed to have chosen to wear.

Lily was trying to discern if talking about the delightful view of the mountains in her letter to her parents was a nice touch or just plainly flaunting her good fortune in their faces.

Her transfigured pen—Fleamont had gaped when she’d explained how Muggle pens worked and had absolutely refused to let her leave to buy one, as they had perfectly working quills in the house she could borrow—tapped on the parchment, following the rhythm of the song Euphemia was humming while she and Harry tended to the flowers outside. She couldn’t tell her parents about Harry in a letter, and therefore she couldn’t honestly apologize for not going home for Easter break. She was definitely not going to ask about Petunia’s welfare and she could only fill so many lines on her assignments and subjects at Hogwarts before her Muggle family decided it was just too much to try and keep up.

But leaving it at “my partner and I will go down for a visit on Wednesday” felt like a bit abrupt. Especially considering she was not willing to call James her _boyfriend_ when he was rightfully her husband, and she knew the word _partner_ would elicit glances and questions from both of her parents and possibly Petunia and two or three neighbours.

“Hi, Mum!” Harry came inside all sweaty and flustered, but neither of them minded as he approached her for a kiss. He didn’t hug her with his grubby hands from tending to the plants, though, and rushed to the loo to wash up at Euphemia’s beckoning.

“Still at it, dear?” Euphemia asked, eyeing quite judgementally both Lily and the pen.

“Well, there are things that just need to be explained in person,” Lily huffed, hurriedly signing the letter without further pleasantries.

“Indeed, there are,” Euphemia said.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Mrs Potter?” Lily inquired, carefully placing behind her ear a lock of hair that had gotten free from her ponytail.

“I was just wondering, Lily dear, where darling Harry is going to sleep tonight.” She majestically lowered herself, heavy robes and pointy hat perfectly placed even in the heat, into the chair next to Lily’s. “And there’s no need to call me that, sweetheart. Feel welcome to call me Euphemia.”

“Perhaps I’m mistaken, dearest Euphemia,” Lily said, sweetening her voice, “but I’m getting the impression you don’t agree with our decision of letting Harry sleep with us _even after_ he gets a full-blown panic attack every night when we suggest he goes to his bedroom.”

“Well, you are not mistaken, as my son wouldn’t have chosen to marry a less than brilliant witch.”

“Well then, as your son might have mentioned when you tried to have this very same conversation with him yesterday while we were at Hogwarts, we have already talked about it and we agree that we are not willing to let Harry suffer unnecessarily when he just needs us to be close. Oh, but, Euphemia, you’ve just come from outside, how careless of me—would you care for some lemonade?”

“Oh, dear, thank you, that would be lovely. It is hot indeed outside.” Lily made the full jug she’d prepared early hover from the cupboard magically enchanted to serve as a fridge, as well as two glasses from the pantry. She set Euphemia’s one on the table with rather more force than necessary.

“Oh, _excuse me_ , Euphemia. I still don’t have the knack of these hovering charms, you see? In any case, if you’re worried we might be spoiling Harry, do not fret. We can’t possibly do a worse job than you did with James—he was a total prat when I met him and continued doing so until well into his teens.” Lily drank her lemonade in a single mouthful and stood up, under Euphemia’s disapproving glance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a letter to mail.”

She found James sorting clean laundry in their room.

“Your dear mother has just informed me she would rather have Harry howling in his room than let him sleep in here,” she said, sighing as she sat on one of the armchairs.

“What’s that?” James asked, pointing at the letter still in Lily’s hands.

“I’m going home on Wednesday. Just giving Mum and Dad a heads-up.”

James hummed.

“Do you think we're doing the right thing, not forcing him to go back to his room?” he whispered, after checking the shower was still on.

“I know it’s not—well, normal, for a ten-year-old to want to sleep with us every night. I _am_ aware he’s got a bit of separation anxiety. But it’s—after all he’s been through, I’m just amazed he can still smile at us and—you know what I mean?” When Lily looked at him, all she wanted was for James to nod and come sit on her lap and tell her it was going to be alright. But he just bit his lip and sat down on the bed, holding one of Harry’s new jumpers.

“And the worst of it hasn’t happened yet,” James muttered instead. He was as lost as she felt, Lily realised.

“If the price I have to pay to allow him a second more of happiness is a crowded bed, I’ll gladly pay it. I won’t let anybody do as they please with him, and I won’t let anybody use him, just like—Like—” Her words simply didn’t work, every time she tried to disentangle the ugly feelings that clutched her chest when she thought about the hell the magical world had put her baby through, only because of their own incompetence to solve their problems. They’d left everything in the hands of a child, _her_ child, and had done so happily! Of course, they must have been so relieved! Harry had been unable to defend himself—he’d just taken everything thrown at him, with nobody to stand between him and danger, abusers and opportunists.

Lily accepted James’ hug when he came to embrace her.

“Don’t you feel guilty, Lily?” He whispered, just by her ear. She whined quietly. “He did all those extraordinary things—he saved everyone! And we were just killed off, just like that! We were supposed to protect him, and we left him alone—”

Lily shut his pleas with a kiss.

“We _are_ guilty of that,” she said. She swiftly wiped her tears when she heard the shower being turned off.


	16. Chapter 16

Despite what Aunt Petunia liked to tell him, Harry was _not_ stupid. As he’d told Professor Snape the other day—before Mum had come back into the classroom with her friend Mr Moony and very stiffly asked Harry if he was being bothered by the sulky-looking Professor—, he’d been waiting for his good luck to end and for the world to start making sense once again.

It’d been real nice to have a Mum to hug him every time he felt like hugging, and a Dad who ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek, and a Grandma and Grandpa who fed him wonderful meals and didn’t ask Harry to do tiresome chores in exchange, and allowed him to go everywhere in the house and sit in every chair, and didn’t even chase him away of the room when they were there. Dad’s friends were alright too, although Sirius was a bit pushy and kept nagging Harry to play with the gift he’d bought for him—not that Harry didn’t appreciate that, but plushies would’ve been nice when he still didn’t have a Mum he could hug instead.

But there were other people, like the long-bearded man who looked like a flimsy Father Christmas—he’d asked Dad if Father Christmas was real too, like magic, but he’d said unfortunately it was not—, who were just there to remind Harry not to get too comfortable. And when he’d told Professor Snape how he was sure in the end he’d be sent back to Aunt Petunia’s house, even though he’d tried to deny it, he’d got a squishy look on his sullen face that told Harry that, when it came to that, it would not be in his hands to stop it. Harry suspected it wouldn’t be in Mum’s hands either, and Mum’s and maybe Dad’s where the only hands Harry trusted.

So he wasn’t all that surprised when, on Tuesday night, after having had a warm glass of milk and having brushed his teeth, Dad gathered him on his arms and brought him towards his room.

“Can’t I sleep with you and Mum tonight?” Harry whispered. He wondered where Mum was. Surely Mum wouldn’t agree with Dad on this—she’d always get a somewhat sad expression when Harry asked if he could sleep with them, but then she’d nod and ruffle his hair.

Dad’s arms squeezed Harry’s legs at bit tighter. He didn’t let go or force him to come down.

“You can tonight, lad. But I think it’s time we start redecorating.”

“Redecorating? But you already made your bed bigger,” Harry said. He didn’t dare clutch at Dad’s neck the way he normally did with Mum, because sometimes Dad would get this forced smile when Harry did something weird—or freakish, more like, but the one time he’d said that word Mum had told him with a very stern look that he was forbidden from speaking like that—that looked too much like the smile his teachers at his old school would give him, when he told them he didn’t have his textbooks, or the required compass for Geometry class, or a Christmas hat for the school play. It meant they were disappointed Harry was not doing as they’d asked, and that no matter what he said they wouldn’t let him get away with special privileges.

So he just looked at Dad—with his new glasses, that made everything clearer and didn’t give Harry headaches and Grandpa said looked _smart_ on his face—and waited for him to tell Harry the bed was going back to the way it was.

“That’s right, lad, but we’ve thought maybe you don’t want to stay in this room because it has too many of my things?” They entered the room and Dad turned the lights on. They had already put away the Quidditch posters and they wardrobe held Harry’s new clothes, but there were still a lot of books and toys and a half-empty trunk that Harry hadn’t touched.

Harry had known something was up—at dinner, Mum and Grandma kept bickering in rushed whispers and Grandpa kept trying to engage Harry in conversations to keep him from hearing what it was all about, but he’d just guessed they were talking about something bad.

“It’s a nice room,” he said, because it was true.

“But we can paint it in any colour you’d like. And get you new bedsheets and everything, and we’ll get all my stuff and put it away in the attic. If you’d like to keep anything, you can, but we’ll just get everything else out of the way. How does that sound?”

It sounded amazing. It was everything Harry had ever wanted—a room of his own, walls without that floral wallpaper Aunt Petunia liked so much she’d had it put it even in the bathroom, sheets that would undoubtedly be soft and not give him skin rashes in the heat of the summer.

But Harry didn’t really like that anymore. He wanted to be with Mum and Dad. He wanted to spend a lot of time with them to have something to remember when he was sent back to his cupboard.

He didn’t say anything, though. Dad would not understand.

“Where’s Mum?” he asked.

“She’s having a shower. We can start deciding things and we can tell her later—she’s agreed to go shopping again after we leave her house tomorrow. So what do you say? Which colour should the bed covers be?”

“I wanna talk to Mum,” Harry said. Dad’s face made something funny, like he was biting a very spicy pepper, but he nodded and took them both to their bedroom.

He put Harry very carefully on the soft covers and gently caressed his cheek before sitting next to him.

“Harry,” he began. But when Harry looked at him, he was looking at the door, as if waiting for Mum to come save them both. “If you don’t tell us what’s wrong with the room, we can’t fix it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the room,” Harry lied, but it wasn’t a complete lie, because in fact what was wrong was Harry himself.

“Then why—?”

But Harry couldn’t bring himself to tell him. It would have been nice, he thought, to have someone you could just tell stuff. But Dad didn’t really _want_ to know, and when he figured it out he’d just tell Harry he was worrying over nothing because they wouldn’t send him back to Aunt Petunia. And then he’d probably do some magic and the bedroom would look even _nicer_ , and it’d be very hard for Harry not to want to sleep there at night.

“All ready for bed?” Mum came then, with flushed cheeks and her pretty hair already dry and fluffy over her sweatshirt. “What’s the matter, boys?” She wasn’t wearing her pyjama bottoms but she took them out of a drawer and brought them with her to the bed.

“Harry doesn’t want to redecorate his room,” Dad said. Harry forced himself not to look at him nor at Mum. The rug on the floor had very nice blueish patterns and he followed them in his mind.

“Well,” Mum said. “We can go slowly. But I do think we must start redecorating soon. Alright, Harry?”

He still didn’t look up, but he nodded slightly.

“C’mere.” Mum’s arms were the best thing in the world, and she smelled really well after her shower, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to fully relax in her hug. He was being stupid and childish, and he knew he didn’t have any reason not to be happy with his situation.

He had everything he’d ever wanted, and more. His parents loved him and were _right there_ and they were willing to go out of their way to _buy_ things for Harry! And magic was just plain brilliant. It was. Everything was. Harry was being very ungrateful and a bit of a spoilt prat and he was doing a very poor job of making a good impression on Grandma and Grandpa.

He was actually acting a bit like Dudley. Horrified, Harry let go of Mum’s neck. He was turning into Dudley! Dudley got presents all the time, but he always asked for more and more. He didn’t even want half his stuff, but when Harry dared to touch or just look at something of his, he’d run and tell Aunt Petunia. Would Harry become like that with time, too, crying and wailing out of pure greed?

Mum was looking at him. She always looked at Harry with so much _love_ —She never seemed disgusted by him, not even when he’d puked her food. When she looked at Harry, it felt like nothing could ever go wrong in the world.

But, Harry thought, perhaps that was only because she was his Mum. Aunt Petunia also looked at Dudley like that, and Harry _knew_ Dudley did plenty of things wrong. Perhaps it was an illness shared by all the Mums in the world. Or perhaps it ran only in his family—after all, Aunt Petunia and Mum _were_ sisters! What if Harry was _already_ as awful as Dudley, but because of this illness Mum couldn’t see? What if nobody ever told Harry he’d become an horrible person because they feared what Mum would do to them? What if that had already happened?

It was, after all, just a stupid room. Harry had slept in worse places. His cupboard was five, six times worse. Why couldn’t he just stomach it? He could do it, if only he made a little effort, and then Grandma wouldn’t be angry at him and Mum would not have to be sent away to be cured of her illness.

“Honey, it’s okay,” Mum was saying, gently nuzzling Harry’s cheeks with her soft fingers. Harry took a shaky breath. Maybe it was not too late. Maybe Mum was not infected yet!

Harry glanced at Dad, who was hovering by them with a pinched look. Dad wouldn’t know if Mum had caught the illness, he told himself. Dads never knew about things like that—Uncle Vernon certainly hadn’t. He’d never punished Dudley either, so maybe he’d also been infected!

Harry’d have to find out himself. He wasn’t sure how to do it—he very well couldn’t just _ask._ And he wasn’t going to go to Grandma or Grandpa—Harry was sure they thought Mum and Dad were already sick with it.

There was only one thing left to do, then.

Harry steeled himself and looked at Mum’s eyes for a moment, before diving for it.

He certainly _hoped_ he was wrong about it.

“I don’t want to _ever_ sleep in that room!” he cried, suddenly standing up and taking a step back so that Mum wouldn’t be too close to see he was basically lying to her. “I want to stay here, with you! You promised, you said I could be here! So why are you sending me away now?” He stomped his foot on the floor for more effect, thought the impact was a bit muffled by the rug—it surely had worked better for Dudley when he did it at home, because Aunt Petunia had banished all the rugs in the house after a particular long visit by Aunt Marge and her dogs.

“Harry?” Dad was the first one to overcome his shock. He held his hand towards Harry, but Harry took another step back and tried to look as if he thought Mum and Dad were at fault he was not getting what he wanted.

“I _hate_ that room! It’s ugly and nasty and it’s small! And you said I didn’t have to go there!”

“We _said_ you could stay here temporarily, Harry. Now, we can discuss this—”

He interrupted Mum with a loud yell—thankfully, his flinch at the horrified face she made was hidden by the sobs he was half-faking. Dudley was certainly better at pretending to cry—must be the long hours he spent practising.

“No! No, no, no!”

“Harry, sweetheart, come here. It’ll be—”

“No! I won’t, I won’t! You’re just going to promise I can stay here, but will try to get me back there in the morning!” he cried. He supposed this was as good a chance as any to get _that_ sorted, too. Not every thing he said had to be a lie—he was perfectly aware they were going to ship him to his room, eventually.

“As we said, we can do it slowly, lad. Perhaps if we agree on a schedule, little steps—” Dad’s suggestion sounded very reasonable, so Harry thought Dudley wouldn’t have liked it.

“You just say that because you don’t want me here! And that’s fine too! I don’t need a Mum! I don’t care that you’re my mother, if you’re just gonna lie to me!” he pathetically wailed. “You’re being a terrible mother anyway!” He was probably overdoing it, but it was well past the point in which Aunt Petunia would have sent him to his cupboard for at least two weeks without meals. Or perhaps not that many—he’d learnt at school a person couldn’t survive without eating anything for that long, but then he’d spent, that one time all the food in the house had turned into jelly after Aunt Petunia had caught him stealing a bite of the raspberry jelly tarts that were reserved for Dudley’s Didn’t-Fail-Every-Subject party, five full days without anything to eat and only a brief sip of tap water when he’d been let out to use the bathroom.

As the memory came back to him, Harry’s fake sobs turned into very real ones. He didn’t even care anymore where he slept—he didn’t even want to sleep anymore. He just wanted to hug Mum and let her tell him all these nice things she whispered by his ear that were probably lies but made him feel better anyway.

But when he dared look at Mum through his tears, Harry’s heart froze in fear.

Mum wasn’t patiently waiting for his tantrum to end to coo over him and cover him in kisses. She wasn’t even looking at Harry anymore—she was actually sharing a very concerning silent conversation with Dad, that involved squeezed lips and a very stony look. Mum _did_ remind Harry of Aunt Petunia, only not when Aunt Petunia fuzzed over Dudley, but when she remembered Harry was indeed sharing the same air her family breathed and she was forced to live with that fact.

“No,” Harry whispered, taking another step back. “Mum?”

But Mum was definitely _not_ infected with the illness. Harry knew he was supposed to be _happy_ his experiment had been a success—but for some reason he found he couldn’t stand the disappointed look on Mum’s face when she finally looked back at him.

“Harry, you will sleep in your bedroom tonight,” she said, very slowly.

Harry hurriedly wiped the tears and snot on his face with his pyjama sleeve and tried to fix what he’d so carelessly just broken. He threw himself at the floor, his knees landing softly on the rug.

“Please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it! I was wrong, I don’t think those things. I won’t say them ever again. I’m sorry, please?” He tried to grab Mum’s legs, but Dad effortlessly picked him up and paid no mind to his helpless cries and and his kicks and attempts of breaking free.

“Harry, stop it at once!” he sternly said. Harry went limp on his hold.

Dad took him to his bedroom and deposited him on the bed, still as softly as he had not so long ago on his and Mum’s bed. It only made Harry cry harder.

“Dad, please. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll apologise again to Mum, I won’t say anything like that ever again—”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Now, I don’t want to see you out of this room until there’s light outside _unless_ there’s an emergency, do you understand?”

“Dad, please, I’m sorry, I—”

“Harry.” At Dad’s icy look, Harry clumped his mouth shut. “Do you understand?” he repeated.

“Yes, Dad,” he whispered.

“Good night, then.”

Dad left, and closed the door behind him. Harry listened to his fading steps until there was complete silence.

Grandma and Grandpa were probably still in the sitting room, but Harry didn’t dare go to them. He knew they’d agree with what Dad had said.

It was all his fault, anyway.

Why did he have to be like that?

He always ruined everything! Why couldn’t he have left things like they were?

Why did he have to open his big mouth?

Now Mum and Dad were _really_ angry at him. They wouldn’t want to redecorate the room anymore, that was for sure. They’d probably just leave him with Mum’s parents when they went to visit in the morning. Mum hadn’t talked much about her parents, but Harry bet they were just like Aunt Petunia.

The bed was really warm and fluffy, but Harry didn’t want to be in there. It was _too_ nice. Too big, and he was all alone in there. And Harry knew he deserved to feel as miserable as he felt, because it had been all on him and his stupid ideas that he was in that situation.

Dad hadn’t said anything about sleeping on the bed, though.

Carefully not to make any sound, he leapt out of the bed. He thought about sleeping under the bed, but there came a bit of light from the window and Harry didn’t want to _see_ where he was. So he went to the wardrobe. It was still full of Dad’s old things, but with a bit of work he managed to stack most of it on one side, leaving the other all for himself.

More relaxed when he finally closed the door, though shivering because he hadn’t thought of bringing a blanket from the bed, Harry silently cried himself to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Lily’s nightmares didn’t care she was not in the mood—they infallibly came when she finally let herself drift off to sleep, and left her wobbly and shaken in their wake when morning came and she forced herself to open her eyes. The bed felt huge without Harry in between James and her.

She sighed and got up. She supposed coffee and a vial of Invigorating Draught begged from Fleamont could do the trick.

“Time’s it?” James mumbled, from the knot of blankets he was tied into.

“Still early,” Lily answered, putting on a sweatshirt over her pyjama shirt. “I’m going to check on Harry.”

“Bet he’s still pissed off for having to sleep in there.”

“James, that was not _pissed off._ That was—” Lily rubbed at her eyes. She was already exhausted and she’d just woken up. “What if we need to take him to someone?”

“What do you mean, someone? Like a Healer?” James seemed to be waking up too. He sat straight in bed and squinted at her.

“I meant like a psychologist.” She handed him his glasses from the bedside table. “But yeah, a Healer perhaps would be advisable, too.”

“Well, perhaps after Remus figures out what’s going on and how Hogwarts and Harry _are_ connected, we could think about it?”

Lily didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to have something to think about, and she didn’t have to wait to think about anything. She hadn’t liked what Remus had told her the other day, about how Hogwarts’ and Harry’s magic may be interacting and causing time interferences.

She kissed James’ forehead and gently pushed him back towards the bed.

“Be right back.”

Fortunately, neither Euphemia nor Fleamont were up yet—they hadn’t talked the previous night after having sent Harry to sleep, but she was damn sure they’d heard the commotion. And they’d have their opinions on their handling of the situation, too, which even Lily could admit had been decidedly poor and probably damaging for Harry’s already fragile mind health.

She gently knocked on her son’s room.

“Harry?” she called, barely above a whisper. It was still early—she didn’t want to wake him up if it wasn’t necessary.

She didn’t get an answer, so she lightly opened the door. Her eyes needed one second to get used to the dimmer light in the room, and she needed only another one to start panicking when she discovered the bed empty of her son’s sleeping form.

“Harry?” she called, louder this time. She entered the room and switched the light on, blinking while looking for Harry under the window and behind the bedside table. “Harry?”

She was about to go back to her room to get her wand and start performing every locating spell she knew when she heard a rummaging noise from the wardrobe.

“What’s in there? Harry?” She swiftly opened the wardrobe door, only to find Harry’s big eyes squinting owlishly at her, not unlike his father’s. He fumbled a bit at her sudden appearance, making a trembling pile of James’ old rubbish shiver dangerously close to Harry’s head. “What are you doing in there? Do you wish to be buried by all this stuff?” She extended a hand, expecting Harry to take it so that she could help him out of the wardrobe. But her hand rested in the air for half a minute before Harry even looked at it. “C’mon! And why aren’t you wearing a jacket?” Harry finally took her hand, however with a somewhat quavering grasp she didn’t like one bit.

He didn’t say one word while she took him back to the bed and put a blanket over his skinny shoulders.

“Is something the matter?”

Harry promptly shook his head.

“You can sleep a bit more, if you’d like. I thought we could take the train to Cokeworth—Have you ever been on a train?”

Another head shake.

“Then I think you’ll like it. I’m just going to change before breakfast, alright? Dad’s probably fallen asleep again,” she smiled. Harry didn’t smile back.

Lily waited for a moment, in case Harry wanted to give her a hug before she left the room—as he’d been doing since he’d arrived—, but he didn’t move nor ask her to stay.

“Will you be okay in here for a sec?” she asked. Harry nodded.

Lily left, feeling she was the worst mother in the world.

When she came to the kitchen for breakfast with James in tow, Euphemia was already there. She didn’t say anything though, mainly because Harry was there too, with a full plate of scrambled eggs and bacon under his nose.

The train ride was nice. Harry didn’t say much—he just accepted James’ handkerchief after a brief sneezing attack and answered when asked that he’d never been tasted for allergies before. He spent the two-hour ride looking dreamily out of the window—he shrank from James’ hand when he tried to tidy his scarf, so they mostly left him be.

Cokeworth was sunken under a thick fog when they emerged from the train. Lily led the way at a brisk pace, swallowing the mixed feelings she had at seeing again the town she’d grown up in.

“Please stay close to us, Harry.”

They didn’t spend long in the main streets. Her house was in one of the last streets in what her dad liked to call the _respectable_ part of town. A bit more to the East and you got to the river, and then you had _the other_ part of town. Not that Lily minded much—she used to cross the river everyday, back when Severus and she were friends.

She stopped in front of her house—the cluster of not-yet-bloomed roses below the living room’s window was all that made it different from the rest of the houses in the street.

She knew she had a key somewhere in her school trunk, but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to bring it. Lily rang the bell.

Harry fidgeted a little when Mum opened the door.

“Lily, darling! We weren’t expecting you until lunchtime! Come in, come in.” She hugged her and kissed Lily’s cheek, promptly doing the same with James before even knowing his name. Lily hid her relief at Mum’s apparent ease behind a warm smile and carefully touched Harry’s shoulder to make him understand she was there and wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Thanks for having us, Mrs Evans,” James said.

“Nonsense, dear. And, please, call me Rosie.”

“Mum, this is James. And this is Harry,” Lily said, while helping her son out of his coat. “It’s a bit of a long story—that’s why I didn’t want to put it on a letter.”

“Well, of course.” Mum’s eyes followed Lily’s fingers, which were busy with Harry’s coat buttons, until Harry caught up and brushed her off to tend to them on his own. “Let’s just have some tea, shall we? Dad’ll only be a minute.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home for break,” Lily said, after having helped Mum take out the fine china from the dining room cabinet. She started distributing plates and cups while the kettle heated in the kitchen.

“Well, it was a surprise, but we actually thought you were staying at school and studying. You have those important exams at the end of the year, after all—” Mum put some scones and Dad’s tea collection in the middle of the table before sitting down.

“Which one will you like, Harry?” Lily asked, but Harry just shrugged, only briefly looking away from Mum’s face. Lily served him black tea and added some sliced lemon to his cup.

“So you’ve been staying with—uh—your boyfriend?” Mum giggled a bit and started pouring the boiling water into everyone’s cups.

“And his family, yes. But it’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean? Oh, dear, Lily. Are you pregnant?” Mum’s outraged eyes darted to the front door, half-hidden by the stairs, as if their conversation could carry outside. As if being pregnant was something you could conceal! Well, Lily supposed with magic you _could_.

Harry gasped and looked at Lily as if she’d betrayed him.

“No, I’m not,” she firmly answered, but Harry didn’t seem to relax. “Alright, listen. Something happened, something to do with magic. I do not understand it fully yet, so I’ll just try to explain it as simply as I can, okay?” She looked at James, searching for support, but he was just happily eating a scone. When their eyes crossed paths, she dared him to make an inane comment about how delicious the pastries were. His eyes darted down to get fixed in the inside of his cup.

“Please do.” Mum’s frown told Lily she was trying hard and failing to be non-judgemental about the whole situation. She was at least thankful for the trying part.

Lily took some air.

“Alright. The day just before the holidays, I went with Severus to speak with Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster because of the stupid prank war Sev and James’ friends were having. While we were there, though, something really weird happened. We somehow regained some memories, from the future, I guess—I remember now everything that happened from that moment until the day I died.”

“Oh, dear!” Mum clutched the pearls on her necklace. “I hope that’s way ahead—”

“Not really. I was murdered when I was twenty-one.”

“Lily!” Mum came and kissed her cheek once more, before sitting back down and pouring herself some more tea.

“Yes. That’s why I remember that I married James after graduation.”

“Married!”

“And happily so, Rosie,” James unhelpfully added.

“So you remember the future, too, dear?” Mum asked James.

“He does,” Lily answered for him, before he could say something stupid.

“But are you sure it’s not some sort of—collective delusion? Perhaps it’s the fumes—I’ve always thought those potions you so happily insist on making are a bit toxic and will eventually get to your head—”

“It’s all true, Mum. It wasn’t only James and I—Sirius and Remus were there, too—Ah, those are James’ friends. And Sev, of course. Dumbledore, too, I just said. Our memories all match. And, besides, at the same time we got those memories, Harry appeared. It was like a miracle, really. He just came with a _pop_ —He was just suddenly _there_.” She tried to catch Harry’s eyes at this, but Harry was looking to the fireplace, his expression completely blank and his cup of tea completely full in front of him.

“Alright,” Mum said. “And, exactly, who’s Harry?”

“Well, the thing is—”

Lily was interrupted by a key turning into the lock.

“We’re home!” It was Dad. Lily smiled despite herself at his voice and stood up to greet him as soon as he entered the dining room. She was warmly hugging him when she realised he hadn’t come alone.

“Why’s Lily allowed to bring boys home?” Tuney drawled, leaning on the door frame.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry was starting to review his previous opinion on himself, because either he’d been stupid the whole time or he was getting more stupid every second. He didn’t like either option very much, but the facts were as they were and he _should have known_ Aunt Petunia was going to be there.

Mum and Dad were fifteen—that he knew. Not really, because again time travel was weird— _magic_ was weird, too—, and they were really twenty-one, but only in their minds and not outside. _That_ was weird as well, because Harry himself was ten—he supposed he was turning eleven soon but didn’t even know when anymore—, and his parents were supposed to be thirty-one. But anyway.

The thing was Mr Moony had said only the people who were in the room when he appeared remembered the future. It was different for everyone, too—it depended on when they’d died. And not even everyone _had_ died, but Harry didn’t really care about that very much, to be honest. Sirius had told him at least forty times how it wasn’t Harry’s fault that he’d died—and Harry didn’t even remember that, because for some reason those rules didn’t really apply to him!—, until Mum had found out and promptly made him promise to never bring the subject up again unless Harry asked. And Harry wasn’t going to ask, even though Sirius kept looking at him funny when he thought Mum wasn’t watching.

So, it was all really simple, when you thought about it—Mum’s parents didn’t know the future. She was fifteen for them, so it didn’t really make sense that Harry would be her son. And Aunt Petunia was only two years older than Mum—of course she’d be living in that house! She hadn’t even married Uncle Vernon yet.

It was all really simple, but Harry hadn’t had time to think about it, because he was thinking about the many stupid things he’d done in the past few days to get to the point he was in—the most stupid thing of all was to throw a Dudley-like tantrum just to prove a point. He hadn’t even been right!

Stupid, all the way to the moon.

“Are you freaks as well, like her?” Aunt Petunia asked. She was blowing her chewing gum, which was something Harry had never expected to catch Aunt Petunia doing.

“Tuney!” Mum’s dad—Harry supposed he was his Grandpa as well, but he didn’t know how you were supposed to manage having _two_ Grandpas— scolded her, but Aunt Petunia didn’t seem to mind. She just kept chewing while eyeing Dad, and then she scoffed and moved on.

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry.

Harry forgot to breathe.

“James, dear, take care of Harry,” Mum said, which sounded like she was leaving. Harry didn’t _ever_ want her to leave, but he especially didn’t when Aunt Petunia was in the room and Mum’s Mum kept looking at him as if he’d grown two heads overnight—he hadn’t, he always checked for things like that in the bathroom mirror. “Tuney, I was hoping to have a word with you.”

Mum got up. Harry’s arm shot and he grabbed her jumper.

For some reason, he couldn’t make his mouth work. He tried, but only a pathetic wail came out.

 _Please don’t leave_ , he wanted to say. _Please stay with me, Mum_.

And then he froze, because he’d messed that up the night before. Mum had probably realised he was stupid and problematic. A pathological liar, like Aunt Petunia liked to say.

She was going to tell Aunt Petunia she was right.

She was going to leave him with her again.

Harry’s fingers clutched even harder at Mum’s jumper.

“Uh—Harry, lad, you’re going to stretch that,” Mum’s Mum said, and her fingers, covered in rings that looked like fake gold when the light caught them right, crept up to make Harry lose his hold on Mum.

He didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want _anybody_ to touch him. He didn’t deserve to be touched, because he was getting more stupid every second and he kept throwing away the things he now had that were all he’d ever wished for.

Harry flinched. He let go of Mum’s jumper.

He shrank into the couch, breathing hard.

The kettle whistled. It sounded weird, too, like _Jingle Bells_. Harry didn’t remember anybody putting on more water.

“It’s him! He’s doing it. He’s doing it!” Aunt Petunia shrieked, pointing her bony finger between Harry’s eyes.

“Don’t _you_ dare,” Mum said, but Harry wasn’t really listening and he didn’t get what followed. He _saw_ her moving, though, taking Aunt Petunia’s wrist and dragging her away. He whined. He tried to follow her, but his limbs wouldn’t move.

It was like a nightmare—he knew he had to do something before Aunt Petunia took Mum away from him, but he was stuck watching it happen and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

He then felt something touching him. His body started working again—he kicked and thrashed and tried to get away.

“Harry. Harry, it’s just me. Please, I promise I’ll make it all better. Harry, it’s alright—”

It was Dad. Harry wanted to listen to him. He wanted to believe him, but he just couldn’t. His body wouldn’t stop moving anyway.

He kinda wished Dad would just hug him, but then he wouldn’t know what happened with Mum.

“Rosie, who’s this kid? Shall we call an ambulance?” This was Mum’s Dad. They probably wanted to take him to a mental ward.

Not that Harry cared anymore—he just wanted to see Mum again.

He tried calling for her, but he could only wail like a baby.

Pathetic, on top of being stupid.

Dad’s arms caught him anyway. They held tight onto Harry, not letting go even though Harry was being really bad and hitting him. Even if they decided to keep him, they’d never let him sleep on their bedroom anymore.

“Harry, that’s enough.” Dad’s firm voice found his way to Harry’s ear. He didn’t want to stop fighting, but he told himself he needed to just _stop_ being stupid.

He tried to answer a quick _yes, Dad,_ but it came out muffled and half choked because of the sobs.

Dad took Harry out of the house. He was drawing circles on Harry’s back while he walked, which only made Harry cry harder. He wasn’t supposed to be _nice_ if they were going to dump him. It really didn’t work that way.

“Thank you for having us, Rosie. Please tell Lily that Harry and I’ve gone home early,” Dad said, over Harry’s head.

“But, uh, James—”

Dad didn’t wait to answer Mum’s Mum. He told Harry to hold on tight and did something that left Harry _very_ dizzy.

“Gonna puke!” He managed to blurt before he started dry heaving. Dad didn’t let go, though. He just crouched next to Harry and held him until Harry felt better.

When Harry looked around, he discovered they were back home. At Godric’s Hollow, that was.

Harry swept his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his jumper. His arm was shaking a bit.

“I forgot my coat,” he whispered a few seconds later. He didn’t expect Dad to pick him up again to take them inside.

“It’s alright. Mum’ll surely bring it back.”

“Mum’s coming back?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. He immediately flinched, _knowing_ he wasn’t supposed to ask stupid questions.

“Of course, Harry. Mum and I will always come back to you,” Dad said, which didn’t make any sense.

Harry’s eyes filled back with tears, and he could do nothing but hug Dad as hard as he could and let himself be carried to his bedroom. He shivered when they crossed the door.

“Back already, James?” Grandpa shouted from the back garden.

“Just Harry and me!” Dad shouted back, and closed the door behind them with his ankle.

Harry was ready for harsh words and maybe stern orders to remain in this room and definitely Dad trying to untangle Harry’s fingers from his collar. But he got a kiss to his temple and a hand sweetly striking his hair and Dad sitting on Harry’s bed even though Harry was still clinging to him.

“Are you angry at me?” Harry asked after a while, when his fingers started aching and he decided it was safe enough to let them a bit loose. Dad didn’t rush to his chance to break free from Harry, so he let go a bit more and rested his tired arms on his sides. Dad only changed their position a bit so Harry’s weight was resting more equally on Dad’s legs.

“Not angry, no.”

“Then what?”

Disappointed, maybe, Harry thought. He’d ruined Dad’s meeting with Mum’s parents, after all.

“I’m worried, Harry. I’m so very worried I am not being the father you need.”

Harry held his breath. Perhaps that was when they’d tell him he needed to get back to the Dursleys. He was too much work. He was too damaged to serve as a proper child.

Dad sighed.

“I just want you to be happy, Harry. I’m just—I’m so sorry,” he said.

Harry peeked from under his fringe to look at Dad’s face. He didn’t understand what he was saying, but he didn’t look like he was lying.

“What for?” he whispered.

“I wasn’t there when you needed me. I couldn’t protect you from all the pain you’ve suffered. I don’t know what to say to you so that you’ll trust me. I—I can only—I love you, Harry. I love you so, so much. I hope you can understand that, someday.”

Harry had thought he didn’t have any more tears to cry, but he was wrong. Dad wasn’t driving him away, so he clung to him once more and took advantage of the time he still had with him.

He didn’t realise he’d fallen asleep until he woke up with a gasp when he felt the door open. Even half asleep, he recognised Mum’s voice when she asked how they were doing.

He wanted to tell her he’d missed her, but he couldn’t find his voice to speak.

Dad must have felt him squirm, though.

“You’re awake?” he asked.

Harry hummed, because his throat felt parched and raspy, even after he’d tried to clear it with a couple coughs.

“Mum’s back. Do you mind staying with her for a bit? I’ve got to run to the loo,” Dad grinned. Harry was surprised Mum wanted anything to do with him, after everything.

He nodded and let Dad disentangle himself from Harry. He ruffled his hair and kissed Mum before leaving.

Mum sat on the bed next to Harry.

“How are you? Do you need a hug?”

Harry had just been hugged by Dad, so he didn’t _need_ another hug. His skin felt funny too, like a tad tingly, when he thought about being touched. But Mum’s hugs were just great, so Harry shrugged.

Mum didn’t hug him, but she brought her fingers to Harry’s face and started gently wiping the tear tracks that had got stuck on his cheeks.

Harry tried clearing his throat once more and this time it seemed to work a bit better.

“What did Aunt Petunia say?”

Mum’s lips got thinner.

“She yelled a lot about how she feels about me. She told me very nasty things and she stated her opinions on magic and how magic should be.”

That sounded like Aunt Petunia all right.

“What did you say to her?”

Mum smiled a little.

“I yelled back at her about how _I_ feel about her opinions. Then, I told her and my parents what had happened to all of us, and I told them about you.” Harry took some air and forced himself to let it go after. Mum must have finished cleaning his face, but she didn’t stop touching him. “Then, I yelled a little bit more and I made my Mum ground Petunia because of what she did to you.” Mum sighed then, and took Harry’s hands into hers. “I know it’s not enough, because she doesn’t really remember you at all, but I don’t really know how to make it up to you. Is there anything, Harry, that would make you feel better?”

Harry blinked. Mum was waiting for an answer, but he didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t want to sleep by myself,” he slowly said, after a while. He knew it was risky, because she was probably still angry at how he’d behaved the previous night, but the thought of having to close his eyes in that big bed without Mum’s soft whispers when he woke from a nightmare sent cold chills to his stomach.

Mum closed her eyes. Harry bit his lip, waiting.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, when she looked back at him. Harry nodded to show he was listening. “What about I stay here tonight, when you go to bed, until you fall asleep? I promise I won’t leave the house in the middle of the night—I’ll only go to my room. And you _can_ come to wake us if you have a nightmare. How does that sound?”

“You didn’t want me to wake you last night,” he muttered. He shouldn’t have, probably. He should just accept what Mum was offering, because it was way more than what he deserved and he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I was a bit upset last night,” Mum conceded. She didn’t look angry anymore, and she hadn’t let go of Harry’s hands, so he steeled himself to apologize.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just—It was—” He looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“What, Harry? What were you trying to do?”

Mum’s fingers landed on Harry’s chin and gently made him look back. Mum’s eyes wouldn’t have accepted a lie, so Harry told the truth.

“I was trying to figure out if you’d still love me if I was a prat,” he said. It didn’t sound very smart when sounded out loud. “Or if I turned stupid,” he added, for good measure.

“Oh, Harry. I will _always_ love you, even when I’m upset. Always, always, always.” She cupped Harry’s face and it was all Harry needed to give up and throw his arms around her neck.


	19. Chapter 19

Not possessing personal chambers anymore had—predictably—turned out to be a quite major inconvenience. Especially when you were supposed to be conducting an extremely obscure research that you were to be kept secret from everyone else and which, furthermore, versed on rather dark subjects. The school was not even full, as at least half the students were home for break, and Severus found himself always surrounded by people.

Thankfully, his bedroom was empty, save for him. He felt certain proneness to nausea every time he saw his school trunk, inherited from his mother and half-full of cast-off clothes and frippery bought in second-hand shops—his wardrobe was one of the very first things he’d be set on completely renovating once he’d started earning his own money. But he made use of the Transfiguration proficiency he prided himself on having—way superior to the skill he’d possessed at fifteen—and changed his bed into a writing desk with plenty of space to fit all the books he’d taken from the library. He only had to change it back into a bed in the early morning, when he found himself too exhausted to keep his eyes open, and made his carefully organised stacks of books and parchments orderly float to the floor, to keep working on it the following morning.

He just knew he had to hurry, because he would not be able to enjoy such exclusive usage of the bedroom once his dorm mates came back from their holiday.

He had other reason to avoid mixing himself with the rest of the people still in the castle—Albus had asked him to research Horcruxes. Severus had decided he would be making a better use of his time if he researched memory magic instead, his logic being that there _were_ several people who had already conducted the same research he’d been asked to do, with obviously better results. So why make the same efforts twice, if he could just turn to the people who possessed the knowledge he needed?

He had failed to mention this alteration in the plan Albus had presented him with. He didn’t really care for his opinion, at least not for now.

Therefore, on Thursday morning Severus woke up on his bed, still wearing his uniform because he would not be caught dead wearing his other clothes when still at Hogwarts, and because he simply hadn’t had the energy to change into something more comfortable when he’d finally gone to sleep merely three hours earlier.

He went to the loo and then made his way through the common room to get to the Great Hall to have some breakfast before it got too full, so he could later get to the library and _still_ avoid the crowds.

He’d mostly discarded working with Charms by that point—apart from _Obliviate_ , which produced really the opposite result of what he was trying to achieve, the weren’t many more complex memory Charms and he was not nearly fluent on the subject to craft a new one from scratch, not with the convoluted circumstances he’d have to take into account. So he had, once again, turned to work on Potions.

He just needed to refine a formula he was pretty confident would work, and make some trials and Severus _knew_ he could probably have it finished before students were due to be back in Hogwarts.

If only he had access to his own lab, and office, and _space_!

He was startled to see someone else already in the common room, considering the few Slytherins remaining in the castle tended to adhere by the ludicrous notion that a late morning somehow provided some form of happiness that could excuse the wasted time they could have employed in the wide array of productive activities at their disposal.

“Severus, hi!” Regulus Black, for some reason fixing his robes close to the door to the outside, stopped briefly to wave at Severus. Severus didn’t wave back. “And here I was, thinking you’d look all aglow at the prospect of going treasure hunting with me, and I come and find you with eye bags as big as Gringott’s vaults?”

“Aglow,” Severus drawled, waiting for Regulus to join him by the door. “You’ve mistaken me for a pregnant woman.”

Regulus allowed himself a snicker, still in the otherwise deserted common room. He promptly schooled his expression into something graver and closer to the usual blankness he confronted the world with, the moment they entered the cold corridors of the dungeons.

“So did you find anything yet?” Regulus asked, as they strolled towards the Great Hall.

Severus grunted noncommittally. He then realized he should be putting on a greater effort to at least engage in a somewhat satisfying conversation, seeing as he actually _did_ like Regulus, and he _had_ asked for his help with his research, and he _wanted_ to benefit from Regulus’ assistance. “So how was your break?” he asked, not without endeavour. He had never been good at conducting small talk.

Regulus’ mouth twitched momentarily.

“Could have been worse.”

“Were they happy to let you come back early?”

“They are never happy.”

Regulus’ mood had turned slightly gloomy, so Severus did not insist. He looked for something else to say, but came up with nothing until they were both sat at the Slytherin table, under Albus’ twinkling smile from the Head table.

“I’ve actually changed a bit the scope of my research,” Severus finally said, serving himself some beans.

“Uh?” Regulus drank a full mug of tea before even looking at the food.

“What do you know about memory potions?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So perhaps I accidentally gave Severus a mild case of social anxiety?


	20. Chapter 20

When Lily arrived at Hogwarts via Minerva’s Office Floo, connected to Godric’s Hollow just for the occasion, she intended to keep her visit short. She could think, after all, of several other ways to employ a fine Friday morning—for instance, soaking with Harry in the sun that was timidly knocking on her window before she’d left for the cold of Scotland. Or calling Dad—she’d talked to Euphemia and Fleamont and they’d figured it’d be nice if Lily’s parents came to dinner someday soon, so that they could all have a civilized conversation without Petunia’s interference—she would _not_ be invited to share Harry’s space as long as Lily was still breathing.

But James _had_ come at Remus’ request the previous day, and for what he’d told her Remus and Minerva were almost sure of what was the cause of their predicament. He’d also insisted _she_ had to be over to talk about a few details, preferably without Harry listening on.

So shortly after an early breakfast he’d left her little boy with his father and Sirius, whom she hadn’t forgiven completely yet. She just thought Harry had spent too much time far form the people who loved him as it was, and she trusted James to control Sirius’ stupidity at least for as long as she was out. Mostly. Fleamont and Euphemia were home, too, so it _should_ be fine. And Harry had been quiet and still a little shaken these past days, so she figured he could do with a bit of Sirius’ quick humour.

She’d left them loudly theorizing why Severus and Regulus Black had been discussing memory potions with Minerva when James had passed them by. Harry was still sleeping, in his own bed.

“Prefect Evans! Hi!” Miss Sanders, a second year Gryffindor, waved at her when they crossed paths in the corridor. Lily waved back, feeling oddly ancient at the reminder that she _was_ a prefect. She hadn’t thought to ask Remus or Minerva if Harry had been a prefect at Hogwarts. Sirius had mentioned Quidditch, though.

She sighed and knocked on the Transfiguration classroom, which was still acting as a makeshift research lab.

“Enter!” Minerva’s voice welcomed her in.

Lily swallowed the half-smile she had ready to greet her former Head of House when she caught sight of Dumbledore next to her.

“Lily! Good morning. Glad you could make it, how’s Harry?” Remus asked from the desk he was bent over, surrounded by heavy tomes.

“Harry’s fine,” she answered, not caring too much about the slight flinch on Remus’ shoulders at her tone. It wasn’t really directed towards him, but she had too many things in her head to afford being careful not to hurt everyone’s feelings. “So, what’s this about? Don’t have much time.”

“My dearest Lily,” Dumbledore began, forcing her to look at him, “Remus and Minerva have come to the most unexpected conclusion!”

“Is that so?” she asked, deciding to focus on Minerva instead. She got a tilt of the Headmaster’s head in response.

“Well, it appears,” Minerva sighed, apparently as fed up with the situation as Lily felt, “we have nobody to blame but _Hogwarts_ itself.”

“Hogwarts,” Lily repeated.

“Hogwarts,” Remus confirmed.

Lily waited for an explanation, but they seemed intent on getting on her nerves, because they made her ask for it.

“How so?”, she said between her gritted teeth.

“Funnily enough, it was the house elves that helped us arrive to this happy conclusion,” Dumbledore unhelpfully provided.

Lily sat down next to Remus and glared at him until he flushed and cleared his throat before rushing to explain. Lily nodded to herself, satisfied her persuasion abilities hadn’t got as rusted as she’d thought.

“Uh, yes. Harry Potter saved Hogwarts, you see? He protected the castle and even gave his life to save it from invasion and destruction. Or maybe it’s just a thank you present, giving him what he always wanted. So, er—We think it was Hogwarts who has saved Harry Potter now. From, um—His previous life.”

“From Petunia.” Lily turned her glare to Dumbledore, who had the decency to look marginally abashed. Unlike Petunia herself, who hadn’t seemed surprised in the slightest when Lily had recounted what she knew of her treatment of Harry, in front of their parents. She’d just protested a little when Mum had berated her for punishing a child for having magic, and cried a little more when Dad had said he was very disappointed in Petunia. Not very satisfying for Lily, who wanted nothing more than for Petunia to feel as badly as she’d made Harry feel—there was really little she could do to make her understand how horrible her behaviour had been, if she didn’t remember behaving that way in the first place.

“And losing you and James, yes,” Remus said.

“So what? Hogwarts just kidnapped Harry at random and brought him here? And why do we remember and not everyone else does?”

“Not so randomly, we believe,” Minerva said. “Harry had just received his Hogwarts letter, after all. It was his first contact with Hogwarts’ magic. It’s not how Hogwarts usually helps its student, but it’s not completely unheard of.”

“Yes, it appears something similar happened back in 1812, when there was this little girl who—”

“So why do _we_ remember, then?” Lily cut the Headmaster’s story.

“We haven’t been able to figure that out yet, but—” Remus softly scratched his cheek, where he had a scar that had to be new in his fifteen-year-old body, because by the time of Lily’s death it was almost completely faded. “Perhaps it’s because we played some kind of role in Harry’s life? I wouldn’t say _parental_ per se, but—”

Lily had listened enough. She didn’t even know why they’d decided to spring this on her and not on James—he’d probably be more willing to listen to their nonsense.

“Well, you all _should_ have played that role on Harry’s life. I don’t really care why we’re here, as long as it’s permanent. Harry’s not going back with Petunia, and that’s final. I don’t care about the prophecy, and I don’t care about those Horcruxes. If I have to leave the country and travel the world to escape You-Know-Who, I’ll do it, but I won’t seek him out again. That may make me a coward, but I won’t endanger Harry’s life, ever again.”

Lily turned away and left the room, with the memory of James’ last words vivid in her ears, and Voldemort’s ghoulish laugh chilling her to the bones.

She couldn’t very well go back home in this state, so she directed her hurried steps towards the Entrance Hall, looking for some fresh air to clear her thoughts.

“Lily? What’s wrong?”

A voice she definitely _didn’t_ want to hear made her whirl around. She furiously wiped her wet cheeks.

“And what kind of parental figure were _you_ , uh?” she screamed at Severus, not caring that Sirius’ little brother was just next to him, both of them emerging from the stairs that led down to the dungeons.

Severus looked five different types of awestruck. He looked away for a second before fixing his eyes back on Lily’s.

Lily crossed the distance between them while Severus stood in silence, mostly because she didn’t want the whole castle to hear what she wanted to ask.

“Evans,” Regulus calmly greeted.

“What did you find?” Lily asked, ignoring the youngest Black. “About the Horcruxes? Are you going to tell me there’s no other way than to kill Harry to kill your precious Dark Lord, too?” Another thought occurred to her when she discovered the unmistakable guilt at the bottom of Severus’ eyes. “You told me about the prophecy. You told _him_ about the prophecy,” she said, remembering the night everything had been painfully explained to her. “Did you—Did you ask him not to kill me? To go for Harry, instead, but sparing me? He asked me three times to step aside,” she whispered, all her fury lost with her in the memory.

“Yes,” Severus answered. Lily could not understand why she had ever considered her best friend a person such that would condemn a baby to death just like that. Or how she could had ever loved Tuney, who had all but tortured a small child.

Perhaps it was Lily herself, who kept falling for the same mistake over and over again. She only saw the good people had in them, forgetting that was not who they were. A kind smile does not make you a good person.

“He would have killed Harry,” she stated.

“Yes.”

“But he killed me.”

“Yes.”

“And you protected Harry on Dumbledore’s orders.” Her voice broke, but she didn’t really care.

“I could have done more.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she cried.

“Out of spite.”

“Why are you researching memory potions instead of Horcruxes?”

Severus glanced briefly at Regulus, who hadn’t moved during the whole conversation.

“I’ll brew a potion tonight,” he said, “that will make _anyone_ who drinks it remember.”

“Remember what?” She didn’t really need asking—she had been there, after all, when Severus had first suggested to try and make Regulus recover his memoires.

Severus only answered with a curt nod, because they were interrupted by Professor Slughorn, who wished both Severus and Lily a Happy Easter and eyed Regulus as if he couldn’t remember what his name was or even to which House he belonged.

“We figured,” Regulus said, to Lily’s surprise, “it will be useful for studying. It’ll make you recall _everything_ you’ve learnt on the subject, so it’ll save us a lot of time.”

If Lily had still been fifteen and a prefect and Severus’ friend, she might have called them out for cheating. As it was, she did not care much about exams or about Regulus’ presence in Severus life.

“I say your mum two days ago,” she said instead, talking to Severus again. He muffled a gasp. “I went home and, when I was leaving, I saw her on the street. She said hello, but didn’t stop to chat.”

“I see.”

Lily waited, feeling vaguely generous, in case Severus wanted to add something. She supposed they had a lot to talk about, but she didn’t really care much for what he wanted to say. She didn’t even know why she’d mentioned her concise encounter with Eileen Snape—she had never been too fond of the woman and the way she’d always manipulated Severus’ mind to appear as the good parent only to collaborate on his neglect and abuse.

She didn’t even know the full extent of it, but she _had_ known enough when she was young and she definitely could see it for what it was now that she was older and was beginning to understand how Harry’s mind worked, too.

She opened her mouth to say goodbye, but another question came out. She blamed the stress and the nightmares that made her lose sleep for it.

“Are spies hated by both sides?”

Severus hung his head in what could have been shame. Regulus raised an eyebrow at her—Lily supposed she shouldn’t have asked that, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

She waited.

“Yes, they generally are.” She nodded. “I’m sorry, Lily.”

But he didn’t elaborate. She nodded again.

“I suppose I should thank you, then, for keeping Harry alive. I’ve got to run now,” she said, and left for Minerva’s office without waiting for an answer.

She didn’t know what to think—she didn’t want to think at all, really. Minerva wasn’t in her office so she simply took some Floo powder and threw it to the fireplace.

“I know what Severus is brewing memory potion for!” she announced once she reached home, and started yelling it was for Regulus’ sake so Sirius could kindly leave him alone just this once on her way to Fleamont's office, where she could hear voices.

She wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted her.


	21. Chapter 21

Harry woke up all sweaty and hot.

His throat was hurting a bit when he’d gone to bed at night, but he hadn’t told anything to Mum when she’d tucked him in and stayed to tell him a story because he’d figured it would go away eventually, on its own. It usually did, whenever Harry fell sick. Apart from once at school, when the nurse had given him a pill for his headache that was really for a pain he had on his wrist since Dudley had pushed him against the garden shed wall, he’d never had to take any medicine to heal and it had always been pretty fine.

So Harry sniffled and coughed a little when he got up, and didn’t forget to wear his slippers on his way to Mum’s bedroom. He wanted to tell her he was feeling a bit under the weather, because he didn’t want to lie to her, and a little, selfish part of him wanted to see her smile and tell him it was going to be okay. And then he’d have a hot shower and he’d feel better and maybe Dad would want to tell Harry some story after breakfast? Mum’s stories before bed were really nice, and she hadn’t broken her promise of staying until he fell asleep, but the previous day Dad had told him another story about a really exciting Quidditch match he’d played back when he was at school that Harry had _loved._

But Mum and Dad weren’t in bed when Harry knocked. He sniffled and supposed he could jump directly into the shower, but he didn’t really want to start his day without a hug from Mum, so he went to see if they were in the kitchen.

“Harry, lad!” He didn’t find Mum or Dad, but Sirius was there. Harry sniffled once more.

“G’mornin’” he said. His voice sounded a bit nasal, but Sirius didn’t mention it so he guessed it wasn’t that bad. “Where’s my Mum’n’Dad?”

“Your Dad just went upstairs to the attic, to make space to put all that stuff we’ll take out from your bedroom. Your grandparents have gone to visit a friend, but they’ll be back for lunch. You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you, lad?”

Harry shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs. His legs ached a bit too, so it was nice not to be standing up.

“And Mum?”

“She had to go to Hogwarts for a bit. You still like bacon, right? You and I always had bacon, when we had breakfast together.”

“When was that?” Harry was a little bit worried that Mum wasn’t home, but he was decided not to behave like a baby anymore, so he didn’t say anything. His head felt a tad heavy, too, so he guessed he was just still asleep. He hoped Mum would be back by the time he woke up.

“At Grimmauld Place! You spent a big part of a summer there, it was completely fantastic, Harry! You and your friends, of course. The house was a bloody mess, too, but with your help we turned it into something a bit livelier. Here you go, bacon. Juice, too?”

Harry shrugged and took a bite. The bacon was crispy and probably delicious, but for Harry it tasted just like he imagined rubber sole would taste. He forced it down his achy throat and gladly accepted the glass of juice to soothe it. It was too cold, though, so it made Harry shiver a bit.

Sirius didn’t notice because he was happily eating his own bacon.

“Tasty, uh?” he asked, with his mouth full. Aunt Petunia would probably have had a fit if she saw someone eating like that at her table. Harry smiled at him and nodded. He took another bite. “So what’s up? What are your plans for today, lad?”

Harry coughed and drank a bit more to calm himself.

“Take a shower, I think. And then I was going to ask Dad to tell me some stories. Did you play Quidditch with him?”

“Of course I did! You _do_ like Quidditch, uh?”

Harry shrugged. He sat back and decided he’d wait a bit before trying to eat more—the bacon was actually getting quite hard to bite.

“I think the flying must be neat,” he said.

“It damn is! Here. I’ll tell you what happened to us once, during our final match in sixth year—It was against Hufflepuff, and you’d think they didn’t have anything on us, with your dad as Captain and the best Chasers Gryffindor has seen in decades, but that day the Puffies were sly as snakes, haven’t seen anything like it!”

Sirius dived into a tale of the match, and Harry listened eagerly, though for some reason he didn’t enjoy it as much as he had Dad’s tale. Sirius didn’t focus much on the points, too—he kept telling Harry how he’d bent the rules the other team was already bending, all without the referee, who apparently was a witch who worked at Hogwarts, noticing.

“So you won?” he asked.

“Of course we won! I wouldn’t be telling you if we hadn’t, uh?”

Harry scratched his nose. He forced himself to take another bite.

“I guess.”

“You should’ve seen it, Harry. They even cursed our brooms so that the handle would freeze! But, ha! Your Dad heard one of their Chasers casting the jinx and did the same to them! Served them right, for cheaters!” Sirius grinned, and mindlessly cast a spell that made all the dirty dishes—minus Harry’s—wash themselves. Harry swallowed with certain difficulty and wondered how much easier his life at Privet Drive would be when he came back if he learnt first how to do these things with magic.

Harry frowned into his plate.

“So he cheated, too?” he muttered.

Sirius laughed loudly. In Harry’s mind, still fuzzy with sleep, it sounded too much like Dudley’s guffaws when he and his friends managed to corner Harry to make him understand what they thought of him. He pressed himself more against his chair.

“It was for the greater good, Harry! We won the Cup!”

Harry didn’t know what this Cup was, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I’m going to shower,” he said, leaving his fork on his plate.

His legs felt wobbly when he left the kitchen, but he supposed it was just because he hadn’t eaten much. After all, his body was still getting used to having so much food all the time and now it was weird going without.

He grabbed some clothes and fled for the loo. His cheeks looked flushed when he looked at himself in the mirror—perhaps he had a fever? It would explain why he shivered the moment he took his pyjama off, too. Harry bit his lip. He didn’t really want to be sick. It felt miserable and he didn’t know how to explain it to Dad and Sirius—perhaps they’d just let him hid in bed? He wished Mum was there, because even if she wouldn’t let him go to _her_ bed, she had promised to stay with him if he needed her. It would’ve been nice to ask if she could hold him a bit when his limbs ached—Dudley always had Uncle Vernon read to him when he was sick, and Aunt Petunia made him soup and Harry had to be extra quiet not to bother him when he rested.

He spent a lot of time under the magic water—it was really nice not having to worry about how much time you spent in the shower. Aunt Petunia wasn’t here to yell at Harry for wasting the hot water and, even if she’d been there, Harry was almost sure Grandma would’ve told her off because Grandma didn’t really allow yelling in her house. She’d even told Sirius off once in front of Harry, which was weird because she hadn’t told _Harry_ off yet, not even when he’d made that mess and yelled at Mum and Dad.

Harry was having trouble keeping his eyes open, but he knew you weren’t supposed to fall asleep in the shower, so he made a big effort and removed himself from the spring. The water had been really hot, enough to mist up the mirror, but Harry started shaking the second he shut it off.

He’d planned on dressing quickly and maybe using a scrap of toilet paper to blow his runny nose. He hadn’t planned the lake the half-shut shower door had formed in the bathroom floor.

Harry blinked, not really understanding why there was a flood between him and his clean clothes.

He blinked again, because he was supposed to be a wizard now so perhaps will itself would make the water disappear.

The water didn’t go away, and neither did Harry’s shivers nor his runny nose, but perhaps he _did_ magic because he summoned a knock on the door.

“Harry?” He jumped in surprise. “Harry, everything all right in there?” It was Dad. “Sirius says you’ve been in there a long time.”

Sirius, Harry thought, could keep his mouth closed for once. He stared at the water a bit more, but it didn’t suddenly become chocolate nor strawberry milkshake and it definitely did not start evaporating. _That_ would have been neat.

He tried to tell Dad he was fine, but what came out from his mouth was a coughing fit.

“Harry?”

“Prongs! Do you remember that awful match with the Puffies where they broke every damn rule in the book and still didn’t manage to win?” Harry could distantly hear Sirius talking to Dad, over the scandal of his fast-beating heart and his annoying coughs.

“Oh, yeah! We were at it for more than six hours!” Dad’s laugh died too soon, in Harry’s opinion. “Harry, I’m going in at the count of three, okay?”

No, not okay!

With some difficulties to keep breathing, Harry wiped some ill-timed tears from his cheeks with one hand while with the other he scrambled the cupboards in a frantic search of towels, to soak the water up.

“One.”

He only managed to knock over a quirky collection of crystal bottles Grandpa stored in the loo for some reason Harry hadn’t yet braved out enough to ask.

“Two.”

The glass smashed. The splashes muffled Dad’s _three._ Harry took a step forward to try and block the door with his own body, but he carelessly landed on a sharp shard with his bare foot and he squeaked like a dying duck as Dad opened the door.

He tried to be completely still while Dad looked at the mess—Uncle Vernon had never liked to see Harry squirming about before he handed out a punishment. But he couldn’t help shaking violently—he was still naked and wet and some of the mist in the room had left the moment Dad had opened the door.

His breath quickened when Dad finally looked at him. He couldn’t see very well his expression—he’d left his new glasses on the closed toilet lid and he wasn’t about to reach out for them just then—, but he could guess he wouldn’t be very happy.

“We should go flying soon, Prongs. What d’you think?” Sirius’ voice startled them both, suddenly appearing behind Dad. Harry felt his cheeks flushing but his mind was too clouded to let him know if it was because of the fever he was probably running or if it was embarrassment because he _was still naked. “_ Uh? What’s this?”

Dad cleared his throat while Harry glared at Sirius.

“Uh, Pads? Could you wait outside?” Sirius opened his mouth as if to say no, but Dad looked at him and Sirius finally nodded. Harry felt a little bit better when the door closed again after him. He felt _much_ better when Dad took a huge, warm towel and wrapped Harry in it.

He let his tired eyes close for a second, even though he _knew_ he shouldn’t let his guard down just yet. It just felt really nice, being held.

But Dad wasn’t holding Harry—he was just towelling him dry. Harry sighed and gathered enough courage to reach for his glasses.

“Wait,” Dad said. Harry froze, but Dad just put the glasses on Harry’s nose. “Better?” Harry didn’t dare to answer. He wanted to ask for Mum—he waited instead. His heart was beating really fast and it only got worse when Harry got another coughing fit.

When he managed to breathe again, he saw Dad had already vanished the water from the floor. He was looking at the shelf that had stored Grandpa’s bottles, broken and vanished too.

“I’m sorry,” Harry spluttered. He tried to think about something to say to explain what he’d done, but he couldn’t come up with _anything._ He felt tears coming to his eyes because he had destroyed something Grandpa really liked and he couldn’t even manage to apologize properly for it.

He sobbed and took a step back from Dad, because he didn’t want him to see just how badly Harry had messed up—at least not so close. He grimaced, because he’d forgotten about the shard still nailed on his sole.

“What’s that?” Dad didn’t wait for Harry’s answer—he gently carried him the two steps to the toilet and made him sit there. He kneeled before him and took Harry’s foot to better look at it. Harry felt his grip on his ankle and fought the impulse to try and flee.

He sniffled.

Dad put his wand to Harry’s foot and whispered something. Harry tensed. The pain disappeared.

Harry didn’t relax.

“My little Harry,” Dad whispered when he let go of his now-healed foot. Harry bit his lip and looked at him. “Are you sick?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had never liked it when Harry was sick. They’d locked him in his cupboard once, when he’d told the school nurse he wasn’t feeling well and he’d phoned Aunt Petunia to come and fetch him. It had been awful and boring and Harry didn’t think Dad was going to tell Harry to go into a cupboard but maybe he’d send him to his room and tell him to stay put there.

Harry didn’t want to stay in his room, especially if Mum wasn’t there with him to keep him company.

Dad’s eyes didn’t tell Harry if it was okay to ask for a hug.

“Just tell me—where does it hurt?” Dad asked.

Harry shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

“Harry.”

“I’m fine!”

He sniffled.

“If it’s just a cold, I’m sure we have some potion somewhere. Okay.” Dad stood up. “Get dressed now and join us in the sitting room.”

He left Harry alone. Harry was getting dizzy just from grabbing at the towel to stop it from slipping from his shoulders.

He put on his clothes. He blew his nose twice before getting out.

Dad and Sirius were not in the sitting room when he looked. He considered just laying down on the sofa by the fireplace, where it would be warm and soft and probably more comfortable than looking for Dad, but while he didn’t want to disobey him he also didn’t want to be left alone when he could be spending time with his father and godfather so, with a last longing look to the creeping fire, he went down the corridor.

They were not in the kitchen, nor in the back garden. Harry knocked on the bathroom door, in case someone had got in there after he’d left it, but nobody answered.

He finally found Dad and Sirius in Grandpa’s office, worriedly searching through a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, full to the bring of little colourful flasks.

“Harry, lad!” Sirius was the first one to notice him. “Got a cold, uh? I’m sure we’ll find something for you in here, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not worried.” Harry wrinkled his nose.

“This one _could_ work, but I don’t know if it’s the one that gives you boiling pustules after a week?” Dad took one of the flasks and held it against the light that came through the window. “Remember that, Padfoot?”

“But of course! It was hilarious, truly!”

Harry didn’t want to get boiling pustules, whatever that was, so he shook his head before coming into the room. But Dad didn’t notice because he kept frowning at the handwritten tags on the flasks, and Sirius didn’t notice because he was busy taking a chair and sitting down to tell his story.

“We must have been only in third year or so, right?” he said. “And we were supposed to be brewing some other potion, but there was this guy in Slytherin who thought himself already a Potions Master and kept telling your Mum to change things from how it was told in the book, so that their potion would get, I don’t know, less smelly, or whatever. But then Moony—you remember Moony, right?” Harry nodded. Dad whispered something about a potion that turned your hair purple. “Moony started asking weird questions to the Professor so that he’d get distracted, and while this snotty know-it-all was busy showing off I threw some dittany into his cauldron. And guess what?”

Sirius’ eyes were so bright and he kept grinning and looking at Harry as if Harry’s stomach wasn’t already a bit upset at the story, so Harry asked a meek “what?”

“We’d accidentally created a coughing syrup that gives you boiling pustules!” Sirius laughed.

“But that’s dangerous!” Harry yelled. “You can’t just throw stuff into a potion!” He remembered quite well what Professor Snape had said, and wasn’t it just a bit like cooking? What if you added bleach or something to a meal? You just didn’t do _that_. “What if something worse had happened? And wasn’t this guy trying to help Mum? Why would you do that?”

“Well,” Sirius said. “It was a joke, nothing—”

“But this guy got hurt!” Harry lost a bit of moral ground when he sneezed loudly.

“He was just a prat!”

“And you’re just a bully!” Harry yelled. He could feel something weird in the air, but he figured it was just his lungs not caring to behave properly.

“Harry? Look, just take this. It’ll make you feel much better” Dad said. He held another flask, but Harry didn’t want to take any of their potions. They didn’t even seem to know what they were looking for!

“No! I don’t want that! I’m fine, I’ve told you!”

The window started trembling, as if there was a violent storm outside.

“Harry,” Sirius said. But Harry didn’t want him coming any closer.

“Just leave me alone!”

He coughed. The pendant lamp shattered, like Grandpa’s bottles had not long ago.

Harry startled.

Mum’s voice came from the sitting room, saying something about a memory potion.

Dad cussed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve changed _kitchen_ to _Fleamont’s offic_ e at the end of chapter 20, for the sake of consistency ;)

“Harry! Are you okay?” Lily rushed to her son, who was standing just barely out of reach of the broken shards from the pendant lamp. She inspected Harry—he had all his limbs and was wearing a jumper over his dungarees so he must be warm enough. But his hands were shaking and his cheeks quite flushed, and his eyes were fixed on the broken lamp. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, checking his temperature with the back of her hand, as Mum had done to her and Tuney a thousand times.

Harry gasped when she touched his forehead and looked at her for the first time. From behind his new glasses—which needed a good wipe; Lily wondered how he could see a thing with such a thick layer of filth stuck to the glass—, she could see he was making an effort to focus his big, watery eyes on her.

“Mum,” he muttered.

“I’m here, honey,” she smiled. Harry launched himself at her, letting her surround his shivery frame with her arms.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, before a loud sniffle made his whole body tremble.

“I’m here now. We’ll make it all better, you’ll see.” She kissed the top of his head before taking him into her arms. She gently guided his head to the hollow of her neck before looking at James. “What happened?” she mouthed to him.

James looked lost. He didn’t seem to be able to decide what required his attention more urgently—if the broken lamp on the floor or the potion he was holding or the suffering boy _she_ was holding. Lily frowned and helped him make his mind.

“Right. I was looking for a cold-curing potion, but I didn’t want Pepper-Up. I know Father must have a mild one somewhere in here, I’ve taken it before and—”

“What’s wrong with Pepper-Up?” Sirius asked. He surprisingly made himself useful and cast a quick _Reparo_ on the broken lamp.

“It might be too strong for Harry’s weight,” Lily explained, moving towards the cupboard, seeing as James wasn’t able to make heads or tails of it. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in Harry’s ear, when she felt him tense at her words, “all these potions have been brewed by Grandpa Fleamont, and he’s a very talented Potions Master. Here,” she pointed with her nose to the only flask to the right containing a milky liquid, “that’s to help him breathe. This one will help you get your temperature down. And that one can be used against headaches. Does your head hurt, Harry?”

She started rubbing his back when he didn’t answer, and waited.

“A bit,” he finally muttered.

“Okay. And Dad’ll make you some tea for your coughing, okay? We’ll put some lemon in it.”

Harry sniffled and Lily told James with a shake of her head that he should get started on that tea. She carried Harry to the sitting room, trusting Sirius to continue being useful so that she’d be spared having to _Accio_ the potions.

She placed Harry in front of the fireplace.

Sirius gave her the potions, but Harry clamped his mouth shut when she took the flask to his lips.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I haven’t done anything to them, you know?” Sirius said, which made Lily look at him with a question in her eyes that he avoided by shoving another flask on Lily’s hand.

“Because I’m not in Slytherin?” Harry asked.

“What’s that about? I wouldn’t mind if you went to Slytherin, Harry.”

“Well, Sirius would poison me if I went there!” he screamed, or tried to, because he was attacked by a coughing fit.

“What?” Lily asked. She put the potions back on the table. “Whatever that is, we’re going to talk about it. But first, Harry, you take your potions.”

“I don’t want to.” Harry shied away from Lily’s hand when she tried to caress his heated cheek.

“You must. It’s like medicine.” Lily squinted. “Did Petunia ever give you medicine?”

“No, not really. I just healed myself.”

“That works, too. But it must have been hard for you.” Lily didn’t give up and brought her hand again to Harry’s skin. His breath quickened when she touched him, but then he relaxed against her hand and closed his eyes. “The potions are just to help with that. They sometimes taste a bit weird, but I promise they won’t hurt you. I just want you to be all right, Harry. Come on.”

She brought the first potions to his lips again.

“Okay,” Harry finally said. He grimaced at the foul taste of the potions, but he drank them all.

James brought a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a full set of cups. She was glad to accept one—she felt she needed something to steel her nerves.

“Now,” she said, once Harry had a cup between his hands, which were already less shaky, with a big lemon slice floating on his tea. She had so many questions she didn’t even know where to start. “What happened to that lamp?”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the bottom of his cup.

“Accidental magic. No harm done, lad,” James said.

“I’ve also broken Grandpa’s bottles,” Harry muttered, still not looking up.

“I’ll buy him new ones, Harry. It’s all right. I’ll explain it all to him.”

James’ words did nothing to convince Harry—something else must have happened. Presuming that something had to do with Sirius, she pointedly looked at him.

Sirius whined. Lily frowned. James sighed and started talking.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to upset you, and Sirius didn’t mean to either. Right, Pads?”

Lily’s frown got deeper at Sirius’ eager nods.

“I’m not upset. I’m fine. It wasn’t _me_ you poisoned. You should’ve apologised to that guy, not to me,” Harry said, glaring at Sirius from behind his fringe.

“You poisoned someone?” Lily asked.

“Potions class, third year,” James supplied. He had the decency to look contrite, as Lily remembered Severus’ boiling pustules in third year.

“Harry’s right,” Lily said, earning a surprised look from her son. “You _should_ apologize to him.”

“I’m not going to—” Sirius thankfully stopped himself before sabotaging even further Harry’s assessment of his character.

“Pads,” James sighed.

“We’ll just write him a letter. That’s enough, right?”

Lily shook her head. She sat next to Harry and gently lifted his sweaty fringe from his forehead.

“Where are Grandpa and Grandma, anyway?” she asked James while still looking at Harry. The child’s eyes seemed to have less trouble focusing, but his breathing was still laboured. She motioned for him to drink more of his tea.

“Mrs Clemenville firecalled—She’s having some trouble adjusting to her son’s death.”

Lily hummed. She had only ever seen Mrs Clemenville once, before the old lady’s own death. She didn’t even know she’d ever had a son. She could relate, though—she didn’t want to think what losing Harry would mean for her sanity.

She kissed Harry’s cheek. His skin felt hot.

“Are you feeling better?”

Harry sniffled.

“Yeah. Guess those potions aren’t that bad.”

Lily smiled. “’Course not.”

“Can they do anything?”

“Well, not _anything_. But a lot of things, yes. For example, Severus is brewing a memory potion right now.”

Sirius snorted, earning an exasperated look from Lily.

“And what for?”

“For your information,” Lily said, “it’s to give your brother back something he has lost.”

“I told him not to! I told him to leave Regulus alone!” Sirius cried. Lily felt Harry squirm closer to her.

“And we’ve already established how impressive your record is in excellent decision making, haven’t we?” she said, with a level voice.

Sirius grumbled some vague justifications that did nothing to warm Lily’s heart.

“A memory potion!” James exclaimed. Lily didn’t know why he should be so surprised, but she didn’t get to ask—James excused himself and said he’d get right on writing that apology letter.

Lily looked pointedly at Sirius, who grumbled a bit more but ended up reluctantly following.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked.

Lily looked down at him.

“Why, little one! Magic, of course,” she playfully said, allowing herself a wink.

To her delight, Harry smiled.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've met koala!Harry, now meet owl!Sirius 🙃

Severus was having the most bizarre day—not in a Flee From Hogwarts Only To Get Yourself Killed way or in a Surprise, This Hellish And Nonsensical Tournament Was A Plot To Resurrect The Dark Lord All Along way, which was always a plus. But Regulus had forced him to interact with other people—mostly him, but there had been that brief and quite discouraging chat with Lily as well—and they _had_ invented a new potion and Filius had complimented Severus’ work when he’d found him at the library, levitating several books to their original placement at the same time. Not that it was _that_ impressive—the levitating charm was actually the very first one you learnt at Hogwarts, and Severus was far form being eleven years old. Still, it had left a strange feeling in Severus’ heart—he remembered all too well how Filius had looked at him the last time they’d seen each other, back _then._

A feeling that was eerily similar to what he still felt every time he thought about how the first thing Minerva had told him in _this_ reality was that she was sorry.

Sorry for what, anyway? She’d done what she had to. He could have done more.

Severus made a mental note to cool down the spring in his steps the closer he came to the dungeons, lest he was ready to endure Regulus’ teasing.

But it wasn’t Regulus who he met after a turn of the corridor, but _the other_ Black.

Severus came completely to a stop.

“Finally. Where were you?” the mutt barked.

“I see you haven’t lost your charms, Black,” Severus sneered. “Got lost on your way to the tower?”

Black scoffed.

“I was waiting for you!” he said, crossing his arms. Severus blinked and glanced longingly towards the end of the corridor leading to the Slytherin common room entrance. Why did he have to deal with _Black_ of all people on a day like that, when he was just about to ask Regulus to taste their new potion?

“I’m busy,” he said, remembering he was not in an Order meeting and therefore he didn’t have to tolerate this cretin’s presence any more than necessary. “If you’ll excuse me—” He tried to keep walking, but Black blocked his way and actually grabbed his arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, glaring at the mutt while getting his arm free.

He pointed his wand at him.

“That’s why I didn’t want to do this! Do you _never_ chill, Snivellus?”

Severus sent a mild stinging hex in Black’s knees direction and turned to keep going. Black cursed and transfigured a suit of armour into a big rock that blocked his path.

Exasperated, Severus faced him again.

“What?”

Black straightened himself, scrunching his face when his step made him put his weight on the leg where Severus’ hex had landed.

“I’ve got a letter. For you,” he said.

Severus looked at him, but the words didn’t magically start making any sense.

“A letter.”

“Yes. A letter. Ever got one?”

Severus suppressed the need to erase Black’s smirk with a curse.

“And who’s _that_ letter from?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you,” Black said, “when you answer one question.”

Severus understood then why the Sorting Hat had never considered placing Black in Slytherin, if _that_ was his best try at leading a negotiation.

“Get to the point already, Black.”

“Have you given the potion to Reg yet?”

Severus sighed. He considered giving an evasive answer—he had several ready at the tip of his tongue, but he truly did not wish to gratuitously extend his suffering.

“No.”

“So? When are you going to? Is it even finished yet?” Black growled.

“You said one question, Black, not a thousand. Now, give me that bloody letter or let me through.”

Black dramatically sighed, as if it was _his_ patience the one being incessantly tested.

“It's from James,” he said, taking a yellowing envelope out of his robe pocket. He, unlike Severus, was not wearing his school uniform. He made no move to hand the letter to Severus, though.

“Well?” It took all of Severus’ well-honed patience—trained in a potions classroom full of dunderheads who didn’t know how to hold a knife and thought it was fun to set potion ingredients on fire—not to start tapping the floor with his foot.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Black said, after losing a staring contest against the letter he was holding.

Severus’ day had just doubled its bizarreness.

“You must be drunk,” he declared and vanished the rock blocking his way with a quick flick of his wand.

“Wait!” Black called, grabbing his arm _once more._

Severus shook him off with certain violence.

“Do not touch me!” he hissed.

“You can’t give Regulus that potion!”

“Is that what it’s about? I certainly don’t need your permission.” For the third time, Severus turned around to leave. Thankfully, Black didn’t try to grab him again, but he actually transformed into a dog and run ahead of him only to stop him back with another rock, this time transfigured from chandelier.

“You can’t!” he insisted. With his arms open, he actually looked desperate. Pity Severus knew he was physically incapable of caring about anybody except from himself. “I’ve even apologized to you!”

“Look, mutt. I do not care what you think of me and I evidently am not going to ask for your opinion on what I do or do not do, not in regards to your brother nor in regards to anything. So kindly let me through or prepare yourself to get cursed!” He’d actually failed at maintaining the same cool tone throughout his whole speech—Black always managed to get on his nerves.

Severus pursed his lips and resolved not to allow anything he said affect him anymore.

“But why are you so intent on my brother remembering his own death? Why would you want to see him suffer, Snape?”

Severus got his wand ready.

“It was actually Albus’ idea,” he said, instead of bounding Black’s lips together as he’d meant to do.

Bizarre day, indeed.

“You’re a filthy liar, you—!” Black gaped in a very good impression of Harry Potter when the daft boy had finally discovered who was the Half-Blood Prince. Severus raised an eyebrow. “It was?” And, just like that, Black deflated.

He looked back at the damn letter.

“Why are you even here? What are owls for?” Severus asked.

“I had to come to apologize,” Black said. He scratched his temple with the tip of his wand, in an extremely careless display of utmost negligence, only akin to that of a three-year-old.

“Stop doing that!” Severus snapped. “And why are you even apologizing? What for?”

“It’s in the letter. And Harry asked me to,” Black said with a small smile.

Severus had to take a step back to process the information.

“Harry,” he repeated. Black nodded, predictably not providing any clarification whatsoever. “Harry Potter, you say.” Severus was waiting for Black’s smirk—he’ll probably just laugh it off and tell it was all a joke.

Severus did not understand a Sirius Black who did not joke.

“Yes,” Black said. “He’s such a good lad.”

“Not thanks to you!” Severus cried, finally snatching the letter from the mutt’s quite limp hands. “He’s a troublemaker and just plain disrespectful and—” He could have gone on and on, as he definitely had plenty of material on the very extensive list of reasons why Harry Potter was _not_ a _good lad._ But his fingers were occupied with breaking the seal on the letter and his eyes were occupied with following Black’s every movement and his mind was occupied with trying to forget a quite persistent memory of the same Harry Potter who had told him just the other day how he thought he was going to be sent back to Petunia.

Severus resolved he needed to tell Lily just that, because Albus could get ideas that would mean the boy _would_ be sent back there, if it was thought it would be best for ending the Dark Lord, and Severus did really not want to witness a repeat of that other scene he didn’t manage to forget, no matter what he did, and which involved he sending Harry Potter away too, but to his own death.

Harry had been younger than even Lily was when she died—And now the boy had sent Black to apologise?

Severus swallowed and forced himself to focus on James Potter’s atrocious handwriting.

The letter began with two full paragraphs explaining Potter and his friends’ state of mind on a particular situation that had occurred when they had attended third year Potions that Severus _had_ managed to banish from his own memory and that he did not really wish to recall right then, and in front of Black.

And then James Potter _apologized_ , too.

Severus looked up, because he didn’t trust Black unsupervised for longer than one minute at a time. Black nodded, as if to make him go back to his reading.

There was one paragraph left. Severus frowned, guessing his day was about to increase its already overwhelmingly huge amount of bizarreness.

 _Now, on another note. Lily has mentioned you have been working with memory potions. As we already know you went on to become a Potions Master (I guess my congratulations are in order for that one)_ —Severus had to scoff at the thought that he could, for even one moment, _want_ any form of acknowledging coming from James Potter— _it is of no doubt that you will succeed. As I do not know the exact field you are researching, I must ask. Do you reckon it might be possible to brew something that could erase a specific part of someone’s memories? Before you get all righteous, let me explain. As you may know, Harry’s life has not been what we had hoped for him. I am just looking for a way of easing some of his suffering._

The letter ended with Potter’s signature. Not even the most basic complimentary closing.

Severus reread it in hopes he was missing something. He then eyed Black, who had most certainly read the letter, or even helped Potter craft it, and found nothing alarming about it. Lily probably did not know, then.

Severus would have to write to her, after all.

“Well?” Severus asked Black, who was still hovering in the corridor, while he pocketed the letter. “Were you also hoping for an owl treat?”

Black had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“You could give me an answer and I _would_ deliver it.” Severud had to laugh at that—as if he’d ever trust _anything_ to Black’s care. “But you have to let me come now.”

“What are you talking about, Black?”

Severus vanished the rock blocking the path.

“To your common room. To talk to Regulus before you give him that potion.”

“I’m not letting you in the Slytherin common room, Black. You are also ending my patience.” He turned around and inwardly sighed in relief when Black didn’t touch him this time—he however gave himself permission to _follow_ Severus.

“There’s no-one there, now.”

“No!”

“Oh, please, Snape. He’s my brother!”

Excellent. Now he had Black walking behind him and begging for a treat like the dog he was.

“That never mattered to you before!”

Why did he bother with trying to reason with him again? It was proven how preposterous Black really was. He would not leave Severus alone unless he hexed him—which is what he did next.

Pity Black made up for good reflexes in what he lacked in the intelligence department. Severus graciously avoided the curse the mutt directed at him and kept walking.

He had been too optimistic when he had thought Black had understood the message—he got tailed again.

“What do you even care?” he snapped.

“Please.”

“That must have cost you quite a lot.”

Black only looked at him, with that kicked-puppy-like expression that had never worked when issued by eleven-year-olds. Then why did Severus find himself gritting his teeth and letting Sirius Black come after him to the Slytherin common room?

The potions fumes must be getting into his head.

The room was indeed empty and it made it infinitely easier for the two of them to reach the fourth year’s bedroom without further interruptions.

Severus took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Why’s he here?” were Regulus’ foreseeable first words when he found his brother at his threshold.

“He came to deliver a message,” Severus supplied, carefully schooling his expression into blankness.

“What? Got an internship as an owl or something?”

Severus snorted.

“Apparently.”

“Shut up. I just wanted to make sure this experimental potion was—” Black trailed off, presumably harassing his two brain cells so that they provided him with some way to finish that sentence without losing any more face. “Safe,” he blandly finished.

“I brew it myself, you know,” Regulus scoffed.

“May we come in?” Severus said, as he was not completely at ease having Sirius Black in the middle of the Slytherin dorm corridor.

Regulus narrowed his eyes, but he eventually opened the door.

“So why are you really here, Sirius?”

“Just told you. If you’re going to drink it, I might as well be here.”

“It’s just a potion to help jog your memory, you know? It’s not poison or anything.”

“He knows that,” Severus said.

“So why did you bring him up here?”

Severus blinked. He could lie to himself and say he didn’t know, or that it was just because he’d been shocked Black could use the word _please._ But he had died already and given a new life where his survival did not depend on his ability to muddle and twist the truth. He didn’t want to lie anymore.

He was tired of lying.

So he told the truth, because it was one of the only people in the world he had ever considered a friend asking.

“I owed it to him. Indirectly, of course.”

Black looked at him—Severus was starting to see the owl resemblance.

“Whatever you say,” Regulus said. He went to his trunk and opened the lid. He took one of the three vials they had sampled out of the cauldron still under a stasis spell down in the student labs.

“What was that about, Snape?” Black asked, but Severus dismissed him. He might have got soft in his new life, but he was not about to start tearing apart every single thing he’d done in his past life that had led to Black’s and his godson’s deaths.

Regulus studied the vial under the chandelier light. The potion was light blue.

He drank it.

Severus held his breath. From the corner of his eye, he saw Black sitting down in one of the made, empty beds in the room.

Regulus whimpered. He took a hand to his heart and clutched the fabric in there. His breathing sounded ragged.

When Severus discovered a glassy tint in Regulus’ eyes, he guided him to sit down on his own bed and gently forced his head between his knees.

“What’s happening? What did you do?”

Yes, that was why Severus hadn’t wanted Black present when they did this.

“If you cease this panicking folderol, mutt, we can perhaps ask your brother how he’s feeling.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Black growled, but he stopped being a nuisance for the moment, which gave Regulus some time to regain his bearings and wipe his teary cheeks.

He finally looked up again.

“Severus! Severus! How? I was—It can’t be possible!”

Severus nodded, hovering close without touching him in case the potion had some secondary effect apart from the dizziness expected when you suddenly recuperated traumatic memories.

“What is the last thing you remember?” he asked, covering up his excitement at the potion’s obvious success with a lacy layer of concern.

Regulus shook his head.

“He killed you, right? You Know Who!” Black apparently could not bite his tongue any longer. It must have been a new record on his part, though.

“No. No!” Regulus stood up. “You don’t know anything about it.”

It was Severus’ turn to take a sit.

“You took one of his Horcruxes,” he stated, not letting his voice waver even when Regulus’ face fell. “It’s alright. I betrayed him, too. I worked as a spy for Dumbledore.”

Regulus took a step away from Severus.

“You’re lying.”

“He’s not,” Black said. Severus would have probably found it strange that the mutt thought to help him, if he’d had the mental capacity of focusing on something else apart from the imperative need he had not to spoil his one chance of setting things right with Regulus.

And, unsurprisingly enough, Regulus believed his brother before he believed Severus.

“You betrayed him? Did he find out?”

“He knew I was a spy.”

Regulus took a deep breath.

“Did he kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Reg—”

“Regulus,” Severus interrupted. “Where did you hide the Horcrux?”

Regulus shook his head again. He then paced for a few seconds before ending back at the same spot where he’d began.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“To tell Dumbledore about it,” Severus truthfully answered.

“I don’t know—It’s dangerous. It’s not—”

Severus nodded towards the bed where Sirius was once more sitting down. Regulus obediently placed himself next to his brother.

“Someone went after the Horcruxes,” Severus said. “Hunted them down, destroyed them all.”

Regulus gasped. Black was probably trying to set a new record, because he was mercifully keeping his mouth shut.

“Someone? You mean someone apart from the Dark Lord?” Regulus asked.

“No. The Dark Lord didn’t know.” Until he knew, Severus didn’t say. Until he started carrying his snake with him at all times, which signalled the time when Severus had to tell Harry Potter the truth.

“Was it to kill him?” Regulus asked. Severus took half a second to remember what they were talking about.

“Yes.”

“Did that someone do it?”

“I’m told he did.”

Regulus breathed. He then nodded.

“Alright. I’ll tell you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some [edits ](https://hklnvgl.tumblr.com/post/190256038160/lily-potters-instagram-account)that could very well belong to this fic (everybody lives, no war, social media AU)


	24. Chapter 24

Harry was feeling much better in the morning—he was happily eating his oatmeal while merrily chatting about the Gobstones game he’d lost the previous night against his grandfather.

Lily smiled at him.

“So, Harry,” she said, blowing at her scalding coffee. “How would you like to start redecorating today?”

Harry fumbled a bit with his spoon before shrugging.

“That’s okay,” he mumbled. She knew he still wasn’t too happy with their sleeping arrangements, but he hadn’t exploded again so she counted that as a victory.

A barn owl came flying through the open window. Harry instantly jumped from his seat to go pet her, while Lily unwrapped the letter she brought from her claws.

“Owls are really pretty,” Harry said. Lily was about to tell him he shouldn’t really bother her while she worked, especially since he hadn’t finished breakfast yet, but then he turned the envelope around and discovered the letter was from Severus.

She frowned and opened it.

_I have no right to ask anything from you, but I nonetheless ask you to read this until the end. There are three things that I must say to you. It is really important that you know the last two of them, but I could never in good conscience say those without apologising to you first._

_I am sorry for the way things ended between us (for how I made that happen). I am sorry for joining the Dark Lord and for not standing up to what I and you also knew were bad influences. I am sorry for doing many things at his service, and I am especially sorry for telling him about a prophecy that I did not know talked about you but that in the end caused your death._

_You were right: I was not a parent figure for your son. I belittled him and bullied him repeatedly over the years. I would like to say it was all part of the ploy Albus and I conceived to eventually guarantee the end of the Dark Lord, but I will not lie to you. Not ever again. I did it out of spite and I did not stop to consider he was just a child and therefore not guilty of any of his father’s crimes. I am sorry I guided him to his death. I am sorry I only protected him when his life was in danger and not when he was suffering or in pain._

_I have many more things to apologize for, but I do not wish to test your patience. The other two things I must speak to you about concern your son._

_The first one is something he told me the other day, when I met him at Hogwarts. He for some reason is convinced he is going to be sent back to live with Petunia and her husband, who have apparently mistreated him more than I stopped to consider the first time I witnessed your son’s growing up. If you already knew of this, I am sorry for interfering. I only want to make sure you are aware that Albus may try to send Harry back to his own timeline if he thinks that will help the world defeat the Dark Lord._

_On that note, we are still trying to locate all the Horcruxes he created. I have perfected a memory potion that works by giving people their memories of that other life we lived. It works perfectly and Regulus is the prove of that. He has provided vital information that will help us and it is highly unlikely Albus insists right now on sending your son away, but please do not let your guard down around him._

_The third and last thing I wanted to tell you is about a strange request your husband included in the letter he sent me just earlier tonight. He asked me if this memory potion could be adapted so that it works similarly to Obliviate. He wanted to know if I would be willing to provide him with such a concoction so that he could give it to Harry to make him forget his memories of his upbringing with Petunia._

_It is of course nothing that should concern me and if you ask me to do it I will start researching it at once, but I will just tell you this: if someone asked me if I wanted to remove the worst memories I have, I would refuse. Without them, I would just make the same mistakes._

Lily skipped the goodbyes. Harry was still petting the owl.

“Why haven’t you finished your breakfast?” she asked, perhaps harsher than she should have.

“Right. Sorry.” Harry’s eyes travelled back to his half-finished bowl. Lily took a sip from her coffee, which of course was lukewarm now. She drank it anyway, because she wasn’t about to start teaching Harry to be picky with his food.

“Do you remember Severus? Professor Snape?” she asked him. They had met when Lily had taken Harry to Hogwarts. Harry nodded, with his mouth full. “What do you think of him?”

Harry remembered to swallow before answering.

“He was all right. He told me about potions and stuff,” he said. Lily tilted her head, which made Harry continue eating.

James chose that very moment to enter the kitchen, yawning and still wearing his nightclothes. Lily only needed half a second of glaring to prompt his sobering up.

“Good morning,” he said, trying an edgy smile. It didn’t work.

“Harry, please finish your juice and go wait for me in your room,” she said, not leaving her eyes from her husband’s.

“Mum?”

She allowed herself one moment to school her smile into something she could actually direct to her son. Harry was looking at her hesitantly.

“Lily, dear?”

“James, you stay here.”

She nodded at Harry, who drank the rest of his juice and stood up. She kissed his cheek and squeezed him a little to assure both him and herself that she was not planning in the slightest to suddenly disappear from his life.

Harry left the room. James sat down on another chair and served himself some eggs from the pan still hot in the middle of the table.

“What is it?” he asked. He had the nerve to look as if he couldn’t imagine why she would be furious at him.

She allowed certain scorn to drip into her smile.

“Did you ask Severus for a potion to remove Harry’s memories?” she calmly asked, as she refilled her cup with more coffee and used her wand to adjust the temperature to her liking.

James took a bite of his eggs before answering, in which was clearly a manoeuvre to further infuriate Lily and therefore distract her from the issue they were discussing. Lily would not let herself be distracted.

“I might have,” he finally said.

Lily sipped more coffee.

“Why,” she hissed.

“Well. It’s quite obvious, dear. I’d like my son to grow up happy and healthy, and without the memories of years of neglect and trauma to deal with. I’d have thought you would agree.”

“I’d have thought you would ask me what I think on matters like that before making inquires!” she snapped.

“Did Snape write you, then? Took him long enough!” James’ laugh was nothing like the soft chuckles she was used to and loved—it was an ugly thing, cocky and disdainful.

She set her cup on the table. The coffee still inside sloshed.

“Can you stop eating while we talk about this?”

James filled his fork before flaunting it in front of Lily.

“You don’t want to talk. You’ve just made your mind and want to tell me what I should think. Breaking news, Lily—I don’t agree with you. I don’t think Harry’s behaving as he would’ve had we raised him from the beginning and I’ll do whatever’s in my reach to fix that.”

Lily gritted her teeth.

“He doesn’t need to be _fixed_ , James.”

James narrowed his eyes and took another mouthful of eggs. At least he didn’t speak with his mouth full.

“So do you actually enjoy having him glued to you as if he was three instead of ten, Lily? And what he said yesterday to Sirius?”

“And he was right!” Lily stood up just as Euphemia entered the kitchen.

“Is everything all right, dears?” she asked.

Lily looked at her. She didn’t even know what her stance would be regarding Harry’s memories. Not that she had any right to decide—Harry was Lily’s son. And she would not allow anyone to play with his memories—not even James, and not until they’d reached an agreement—as long as she was alive.

“My parents are coming for lunch on Sunday,” she informed the room, hastily picking the china both Harry and she had used.

“How marvellous. Are they taking the train?” Euphemia asked, opening the tea cabinet.

“I can pick them up—” Lily began. A thought occurred then to her. “I have to talk to Petunia first,” she decided, leaving the kitchen before she hexed her husband in front of his mother.

She found Harry sitting on his bed and blowing his nose. She took a shaky breath at the thought someone could want to harm a miracle such as Harry’s very existence was.

“How are you feeling, honey?” she gently asked, kneeling before him.

Harry shrugged. “Are you angry with Dad?” he asked.

Lily patted his hair.

“A bit,” she admitted. “You don’t have to worry, though. I’m not angry with you, sweetheart.” Harry did not look convinced, so Lily just engulfed him in a hug. She breathed his scent and it helped a little to calm the frantic beating of her heart. “Well, where do you think we should start? We will definitely change these curtains, and what else?”

Harry looked at the flowery curtains as if it was the first time he ever saw such a thing hanging from a window.

“Dunno. Dudley had a lamp on his bedside table,” he said. James didn’t have one, so she added that to her mental list.

“Perhaps we should wait until you get sorted at Hogwarts to decide the colours?” she mumbled, looking around for inspiration.

“Uh? Why?”

“Oh. I don’t know. It’s a thing boys do, I think.”

Harry scrunched his nose.

“Why?” he repeated. “Does that school change what you like?”

“It shouldn’t, right?”

“Was it like that for you?”

Lily sighed and took one of Harry’s hands in between hers.

“A little, but that was probably because my parents were Muggles, so everything was a big change for me.” Harry hummed. “But it’s not that important—anyway. Do you have a favourite animal, or a favourite sport?”

“I don’t like dogs much, but everything else is fine, I guess. Do you have a favourite animal?”

“Not really—I like lizards because they make good potions ingredients,” she smirked, making Harry grimace, “but I wouldn’t have one as a pet. I’ve always thought owls look very regal, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry nodded.

“I like owls, yes. And horses, too. And whales. And snakes, of course.”

“You do?” Lily didn’t know why she was so surprised, having heard about Harry being a Parselmouth from Albus and Remus.

“Yeah, they are very polite.”

“Harry, have you ever talked to a snake?”

Harry shrugged.

“Yeah, I used to sometimes? Back home. But I tried here as well—the other day there was a really pretty snake in the garden. But it didn’t work. Maybe it was just that she was rude—Mum, do you think snakes are like people, so there are polite ones and rude ones?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when they will be up, but there's only around 3 more chapters before we finish with this! I'm actually very excited to see how I finally bring it to an end! ♥


	25. Chapter 25

Severus woke up probably even more exhausted than when he went to sleep. Not that he was genuinely surprised—he didn’t like his bed, he didn’t like his bedroom and he didn’t like mornings in general, but it would have been a pleasant change to open his eyes feeling slightly better than the previous night.

He sighed and got out of bed. He grumbled when his cold feet touched the freezing floor. Why was he leaving his bed again?

His job was done—he’d helped Regulus regain his memories and had even provided him with a calming draught when the retelling of his story unsurprisingly became too much to handle. He’d then proceeded to bring both Black brothers to Albus’ delightful presence and had even remained there during Regulus’ second recounting of his merry adventures betraying the Dark Lord, just in case both Gryffindors present decided there was too much Slytherin-ness in the room and traumatized Regulus further with their blunt questions. And _later—_ instead of going directly to bed—, he’d produced some parchment and written the most difficult letter he’d ever had to compose, warning Lily of her husband’s questionable ideas in regards to—why was it always him—Harry Potter.

Severus was not in the mood for a lot of things, which included both breakfast and small talk, so he avoided both the Great Hall, when he saw that the number of students already returning from their holidays was only increasing by the day, and the library, when he discovered Regulus quietly talking to his brother in a corner. They weren’t pointing at each other’s throats with their wands, so Severus turned around and didn’t even greet Irma as he left.

He wasn’t in any rush to return to his dormitory and he wasn’t particularly compelled to go to the potions labs to keep researching. He took three seconds to decide where he needed his steps to take him.

A quick detour that included a brief stop by the kitchens saw him, an apple fatter and fifteen minutes older, opposite Minerva’s office.

He knocked.

His feet begged him to turn back, but he forced himself to stay put until Minerva opened the door.

“Severus!” she said, upon seeing him. “Good morning. Please do come in. I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“That is because I didn’t go.”

“Take a sit. Would you like some tea?”

Severus declined. He waited until Minerva was well seated on her chair.

“I trust your visit is not merely a social call.” Severus nodded at her narrowed eyes. “Well then, as I seriously doubt you are here to inquire about your Transfiguration homework,” she smirked, but he did nothing to acknowledge the joke, “please do enlighten me and tell me what brings you to my office.”

“Yes,” he said, but didn’t ask the question that kept burning the tip of his tongue.

“Yes?” After what must have been a full minute, Minerva pursed her lips. “You must realize, Severus, I have several matters to tend to in this fine morning, as pleasant as your company always is.”

“Of course,” Severus acquiesced, with every intention to stand up and leave. He didn’t move, though. He took a deep breath. “Minerva,” he began. He looked at the wood in her table and at the rolls of parchment lining her selves and at the point of her hat before finally meeting her eyes. “On the night we came back,” he slowly enunciated, “you apologized to me.”

Minerva nodded. Severus waited, but she didn’t say anything. Damn her, she’d make him say it outloud!

“Why was that,” he finally hissed, in between his gritted teeth.

Minerva frowned.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

Severus forced his hands to remain still on his lap as he considered all the various possibilities he had of evading the question, and which answer would lead him to the outcome he actually desired. Regrettably, said number equalled zero.

“I wrote a letter to Lily last night,” he finally truckled.

“May I ask about its contents?”

“You just did.” Minerva didn’t bat an eye. Severus growled and then cleared his throat. “I issued a quite overdue apology for the way I treated Potter during his school years. Harry, that is,” he clarified. “I also apologized to her.”

Minerva nodded.

“Well. I hope Lily accepts that. In regards to your question—I apologized, Severus, merely because I was unjust and unfair to you.”

Severus shook his head.

“No, you were not. You thought you were doing what was right. I never—”

“I know,” she interrupted him. But she couldn’t know, because nobody did. Severus’ life depended on his ability to hide and lie and therefore he could never confide in anyone with enough sincerity to make them understand. “I considered you my friend,” she continued, which made Severus pause. “I suppose I was pretty upset when you betrayed us. Of course, that’s only what I thought at the time.”

“You were?” Severus asked, in a quite desperate attempt to gain some time so that he’d be able to process what she was saying.

“Such turbulent times—” she whispered.

Severus just looked at her, as dumbfounded as if she’d suddenly turned up in the Great Hall wearing one of Albus’ vociferously-colourful robes.

“I believe,” he said after a while, “I should apologize to you as well, then.”

Minerva’s lips marginally curled.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Severus stood up.

“Don’t get used to it,” he murmured just before reaching for the door handle. He left without waiting for a reply.

In the corridor, he felt slightly lighter. He directed his steps towards the Hospital Wing, to ask Poppy for an Invigorating Potion. He could brandish some flapdoodle about needing to study for his O.W.L.s and she’d fawn all over him and provide the potion as well as some unnecessary recommendations on time and stress management and healthy diet habits.

He was surprised when an owl found him as he passed one open window in the second floor corridor. The letter attached to its claw was simply addressed to _Severus._

He took it and waved the owl off before tearing the parchment open. In fact, it was more like a telegram than it was a letter.

Severus’ breath hitched when he realised who it was from.

_We will talk later about the contents of your letter. Thank you for your warnings._

_I wil need a spare bottle of that memory-gaining potion (have you named it yet?). I’ll firecall in the afternoon._

_Lily Potter_


	26. Chapter 26

Ever since Harry had destroyed Grandpa’s bottle collection, Harry had been wary of talking to him. Dad had told him multiple times that everything was forgiven and that Grandpa wasn’t angry at Harry because he’d explained the situation and it’d been an accident. Mum had said that if Grandpa told him something about it Harry should come and tell her so that she’d fix it.

And Harry believed that, of course, because he hadn’t known Mum for long but he already knew she was really good at fixing stuff. The thing was—normally, even when it was by accident, people got angry when Harry broke their things.

So when Grandpa asked him to help with baking some cookies, Harry really wanted to refuse.

“You should go,” Mum said. “I have to make a call and Dad is still with Remus and won’t be back until dinner. It’ll be boring if you just stay in your room.”

What Harry wanted to do was stay with Mum, but Harry understood from her words that she didn’t want him around while she made her call. He considered looking for Grandma, who should be around the house somewhere, but that would’ve been pretty rude with Grandpa still smiling at him waiting for his answer, so he finally nodded and followed him to the kitchen.

It turned out baking with magic was a lot of more fun than baking without magic was. Grandpa knew many spells too—one for whisking batter without an electrical egg beater and one for measuring ingredients without scales, and another one for multiplying chocolate ounces when you didn’t have enough, and even one that told you how many minutes you had to let your batter sit in the oven, with no need for timers! It was certainly helpful and it did provide more storage space in your kitchen because you didn’t need a lot of those fancy devices Aunt Petunia would always hunt for at the stores once she’d seen them on the telly.

“Grandpa,” Harry whispered, while he was cleaning flour from the surfaces as they waited for the yeast to work, “I’m really sorry I broke your flasks.”

Grandpa, who was supervising the rinsing of the bowls his magic was directing, flicked his wand and made it all freeze in the air.

“That’s all right, Harry. Your father said it was an accident.”

Harry nodded, and quickly looked down at the rag he was holding when Grandpa took a step towards him.

Grandpa engulfed him in a hug. Harry very bravely fought off his tears.

“Tell you what,” Grandpa whispered next to Harry’s ear, “would you like that we start a new collection together?”

“Yes, please.”

Grandpa laughed. He squeezed Harry a bit stronger before letting go. Now, for some reason, they were both covered in white flour. It made Harry snort.

“Oh, dear,” Grandpa said. “We’ve been snowed in.”

Harry grinned at him. Grandpa’s wink was interrupted by the roar of the Floo. It didn’t sound like a call, though.

“Is someone coming?” Harry asked.

Grandpa didn’t have time to answer before they heard Sirius’ loud greetings.

“Let’s go say hello,” Grandpa said, taking Harry’s hand. Harry let himself be guided towards the sitting room, where not only was Sirius, clapping Dad’s back, but also Professor Snape. Harry smiled at the man, happy to see him again, but he wasn’t looking at him and didn’t notice.

“But good afternoon! You didn’t tell us you were flooing by, dear Sirius,” Grandma said, coming form the corridor.

“He wasn’t invited,” Mum said, but only Professor Snape seemed to have heard her.

Grandma told everyone to take a seat, but Mum excused herself and asked Professor Snape to come with her. She then silenced Dad’s complaints and kissed Harry’s hair when they passed by him.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Harry said. The man looked up from the potion flask he was holding.

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter.”

Being called that made Harry feel older and important, so he smiled again. Professor Snape left after Mum, probably heading for her bedroom or the office.

“Would anyone care for some tea?” Grandpa asked to the people still in the sitting room.

“I’ll take it,” Harry offered before anyone else could stand up. He rushed towards the kitchen and put the kettle on. While it boiled, he tiptoed in the direction Mum and Professor Snape had left.

They had closed the office door and Harry hesitated for just a second before knocking.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, opening the door just a crack. He managed to see how Mum, a bit startled, hid something behind her back. “What’s that?” he asked.

“We won’t have any tea, thanks, Harry,” Mum said.

“It’s a potion, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape answered.

Harry grinned and opened the door a bit more.

“Cool! What does it do?” Perhaps it was as useful as the baking spells Grandpa had shown him earlier.

“It perfects a defective memory,” Professor Snape slowly said. He always spoke like he had all the time in the world to say what he wanted—like everyone else should stop what they were doing to listen to him. Harry thought that made him really powerful.

“Cool,” he said once more. Then, because Mum didn’t tell him to stay but didn’t shoo him away either, he added, “perhaps you could give some to the lady who works at the school library.”

Professor Snape arched one eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he said. “Why, Mr Potter?”

“Well, she always forgets my name and it’s a bit tiring having to explain every time why I don’t have my student card anymore. But every time I tell her my student number she looks it up in a list and I’m there, so it’s all settled,” Harry explained.

“Do you frequently visit the school library, Mr Potter?”

Harry shrugged. It was the only place in the whole school where Dudley never went.

“Sometimes.”

Professor Snape nodded. He then eyed Mum briefly before setting his eyes back on Harry.

“I must apologize, then, Mr Potter.”

At first, Harry thought he’d heard wrong, but Professor Snape didn’t continue talking. Mum didn’t explain anything either—she was now looking at them with a small smile.

“Well—It’s okay if you can’t give her the potion. I mean, I’m not in primary school anymore, so it doesn’t really matter and—”

Professor Snape held his hand, making Harry shut up.

“It’s quite difficult that you understand right now, Mr Potter. Suffice it to say that I am sorry for misjudging you and for acting upon my preconceived and askew version of reality.”

Harry blinked twice and then once more, but he did not know the meaning of at least half the words Professor Snape had used.

“Do you learn how to speak that neat at school?” he asked. Professor Snape’s eyes opened a bit, like Uncle Vernon’s did when Dudley brought his marking report from school and he had actually managed not to fail every single subject. “Mum! Will I learn to speak like that, too?”

Mum chuckled.

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“Cool!”

“Oh, Harry.” Mum laughed more—it was a bit weird because Harry liked it when Mum laughed but at the same time she’d said it a little like she was laughing at something Harry had said.

“I’ll take my leave, then,” Professor Snape announced. Harry wondered if all those heavy robes he was wearing were really hot, because he seemed a bit flushed. “Don’t be in any rush to send Black back to the castle,” he added.

Harry was called back to the kitchen by the kettle’s whistle. He ran out of the room before he remembered to ask about the potion Professor Snape had given Mum.

He took out a tray and filled it with cups and saucers and didn’t forget to check how the cookies were growing up in the oven. He brought the full tray into the sitting room just in time to see Professor Snape take a handful of Floo powder.

Harry was suddenly aware of how rude he’d been—barging into a room he hadn’t been invited to, asking question after question, dismissing Professor Snape’s apology, rambling about his school library as if the Professor cared about that kind of things. He felt a terrible pinch in his chest and hastily left the clinking tray on the coffee table.

“Professor Snape!” he called, making him pause. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling without making a fool of himself, but he also didn’t want the Professor to get the wrong impression of him and he wanted him to visit again.

“Yes, Mr Potter.”

“Um—,” he hesitated. “You said—You said you’re sorry and you were right ‘cause I didn’t get a lot of what you said but, uh—” Harry bit his lip before he remembered Grandma was in the room too and she didn’t like it when Harry did that. “It’s okay, I think? So, um—Yeah. You’ll be back, right? And you’ll tell me more about potions?”

“Thank you, Mr Potter.” Professor Snape nodded and Harry felt immediately better. “That will depend on what your parents say. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Dad was looking at Professor Snape with a frown, and suddenly Harry remembered what he’d said about Slytherins. Maybe the Professor was a Slytherin! What if Dad said he wasn’t allowed back at home ever again? Was that why Mum was angry at him?

At loss of what he should do, and very afraid he’d never see Professor Snape again, Harry hugged him.

“Please come back!” he begged.

He didn’t feel his arms surrounding him, which was weird because you normally did that when you were hugged—as Harry had learned from hugging Mum He looked up—professor Snape looked even more flushed.

Harry dared to steal a peak of the Professor’s face. To his relief, he didn’t look terribly angry—not like Uncle Vernon, who got this nasty vein in his forehead when he got furious at Harry. Professor Snape looked surprised, though—that was to be expected, Harry thought. He was a bit surprised, too—he didn’t normally have the habit of hugging Mum’s friends like that, out of the blue. He also looked a bit redder than before.

Harry was going to ask what was wrong when he heard a growl and a bark and jumped and hugged the professor with a scream. The Professor did surround him with his arms then, which made Harry be less worried.

“Sirius! Stop it this instant!” Mum was yelling. Grandma didn’t tell her off, Harry noticed, which made him hold his breath. “Turn back, turn back right now!”

When Harry peered from under his fringe, he saw a black dog. A giant, very nastily-looking black dog.

And a just a moment later, the dog _transformed_ into Sirius!

Harry gasped and hid his head in the Professor's robes.

“Do you see what I meant? He wouldn't be doing that if he just knew!” Sirius was saying. Harry didn’t understand. He felt like crying, or running away. He only stayed where he was because he was sure the Professor would surely have a potion at hand that would protect him if the dog came back. And, also, Mum was there, so she would certainly hex the dog if it wanted to bite Harry. Perhaps Dad would, too.

“Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said. “Mr Potter, the dog is gone.”

Harry shook his head.

“Mr Potter, your grandfather is taking you to the kitchen so that you have some soothing tea and perhaps a Calming Draught.”

Harry didn’t want to leave the hug, but he felt Grandpa’s hand on his shoulder and, when he looked, Grandpa was looking back with a small smile.

“We’ll see how these cookies are doing, lad,” he said.

“Okay,” Harry conceded. He released the Professor. “You’ll be back, right?” he asked, just in case.

“As long as your parents are in agreement.”

“He will, Harry, lad, do not worry. Now, come here. We’ll have a sit,” Grandpa took Harry’s hand once more and guided him to the kitchen, where he made him take a chair.

“Grandpa, what’s happening?”

Grandpa didn’t seem to mind that the kettle full of water ready for tea was still in the sitting room. He produced a glass and filled it with milk for Harry.

“Ah, my sweet child. That Snape kid is quite a genius! He managed to create a potion that gives back memories.”

“Like—for old people?” Harry asked, thinking about that old neighbour by the end of the street Aunt Petunia always warned Dudley and him never to come close to, because he’d lost it years ago, as she said.

“For people of all ages, I believe.” Grandpa checked the oven. “These little ones are almost done. Just a couple more minutes, and we’ll be able to tell everyone the great bakers we are!”

“So if you hit your head or something and lose your memories, you take that potion and suddenly you remember again?” Harry asked.

Grandpa nodded.

“Sirius wants you to take it,” he said.

Harry frowned.

“Where did that dog come from?”

“That’s an Animagus. It’s when a person can transform into an animal—it’s quite advanced magic! A feat not everyone can accomplish.”

“So the dog was Sirius? And why does he want me to take the potion? I haven’t hit my head!” But Harry’s head _was_ starting to ache a little bit. He drank some milk.

Grandpa sighed.

“To remember him, I would say.”

Harry gasped. He understood a little, maybe.

“Oh,” he said.

“Your father was quite against it.”

Harry massaged his temples. He was _definitely_ getting a headache.

“And what do you think, Grandpa?” he asked.

Grandpa waved his wand and made the oven stop.

“I think you should finish your milk, lad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, if everything goes right, only one chapter left!


	27. Chapter 27

Lily found herself extremely grateful she was living with her parents-in-law, when she entrusted Harry to be escorted to the kitchen by Fleamont while she defused the umpteenth crisis of the week. Euphemia lingered for a moment before disappearing too.

“Severus,” Lily said. “Thank you for your visit.” He nodded. “Would you be so kind as to inform Albus and Minerva that James and I will be going to Hogwarts after Harry goes to bed tonight? We need to discuss several things.”

“I will.”

Lily didn’t thank him again, even if it would’ve been the polite thing to do. She turned her back on him to face Sirius, who was being forced into a chair by James.

“Now, would you care to explain just what _the hell_ that was, Sirius?” she glacially asked. Sirius glanced nervously to the fire, where a whooshing sound signalled Severus’ depart.

“I didn’t know he’d freak out when he saw me!” Sirius yelled. Lily glared and made a vague gesture to make him lower his voice—Harry was after all just a room away. “He’s always liked me as a dog before!” Sirius kept protesting.

“Pads,” James intervened. Lily crossed her arms in front of her chest, in a herculean deed to restrain herself from also shushing her husband. “Harry has said _several_ times he doesn’t like dogs.”

“And at last my dear husband says something useful!” Lily retorted.

“Harry liked me before!” Sirius whined.

“You just startled him—We’ve never told him about—” James looked at her asking for help. Lily only sneered.

“But you’ve told him all about Snivellus!”

“Sirius,” Lily said. She took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to relax her posture. “If you’re going to act more childishly than my child, who is not only ten years old, but who also has suffered from several forms of trauma—which, by the way, I’ve not forgotten are a predicament he found himself in certainly with quite a lot of help from you—If you’re not going to act as an adult, I’ll kindly and only once ask you to leave this house, and not come back until you can prove you can actually _help_ us raise Harry and not just upset him.”

“But Lily!” Sirius stood up—he was bulkier and taller than Lily and he certainly tried to intimidate her by raising his voice, not helping his cause in the slightest. “That’s totally unfair! I got no say in whether Reg took his potion! I just want Harry to take it too—I just want to spend some time with him! I didn’t get to see him much when I was alive and I just—I just miss him!”

Sirius’ tears would have made a better job at moving her if he hadn’t been asking them to allow Harry to gain eight more years of pain and trauma.

“Sirius, mate,” James sighed. “I understand what you’re saying, I really do, but—what Regulus was missing was him realising he’d made a wrong choice and the actions he took to make amends. What Harry is missing now is far, far worse—”

“Why, because he’s your son? Guess what, Prongs! I love my brother too!”

“We are not comparing Harry’s and Regulus’ suffering. We are _not_ ,” Lily emphasized, seeing as they were both not really keen on listening to her. “If giving that potion to Regulus meant you got to save his life and his integrity and maybe your relationship with him, I don’t see how that’s a mistake. But I am not tampering with Harry’s memories, one way or the other. And that’s final!”

“Lily—” James pleaded.

“No. I don’t care. You say you want to release him from his suffering, but—Argh!” Lily groaned and cursed her lack of eloquence. She took the still-warm kettle and poured some tea for herself. “Look. We already got a second chance here. It’s a miracle, really. We _died,_ James. We died and left Harry alone, and I of course know it was _not_ my fault he didn’t have a mother growing up, because I did my very best to protect him, but the fact remains that it was _not enough.”_ Lily drank some tea, which of course tasted awful, because nothing could taste right when you were crying while drinking. “It also breaks _my_ heart, don’t you see? I wanted to teach him to read and I wanted to be there when he first went to school and he’s also _my_ child, James!”

James nodded and sat down. He also took a cup of tea.

“He’s a great lad. He is, really. He even made us some tea,” he muttered.

Lily sighed.

“You’d be killing that boy if you erase his memories,” she said. “You’d also be killing him if you gave him the rest of his memories.”

“I don’t want to kill him! I died for him. I’d do it again, I would!” Sirius grumbled as he also took a seat.

“I know,” Lily said.

“We’re being the most selfish people in the world, aren’t we?” James asked. “And to think he _gave his life away,_ to save everyone else—We don’t deserve him.”

“You are a better parent than Petunia’s husband was, you know. _Much_ better. Harry loves you. We just need to create new memories with him. _Happy_ memories. Don’t you think?” Lily said.

“He hates me,” Sirius whispered. James finished his tea.

“And whose fault is that?” Lily fiercely asked. “You keep treating him as if he’s a completely different person! You then tell him completely inappropriate stories! You just need to show him you listen to him and to what he wants.”

“It’s not like I haven’t been trying, Lily!”

“Then try harder!” Lily snapped.

Sirius sighed. He reached for a cup of tea too, which he then didn’t drink from.

“I will,” he said. Lily nodded.

“Good. James?”

James looked up from his empty cup of tea. His eyes were so utterly _lost_ when they crossed paths with hers that Lily leaned in to kiss him, even if she still was furious with him.

“I don’t know what’s _right_ anymore,” he whispered, his breath caressing her lips. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this—I just love him _so much._ Lily, I don’t—”

“Yes,” Lily said, hoping he would understand what she meant—even when she still didn’t.

“Perhaps,” Sirius said, breaking the illusion Lily had let herself believe for a second, in which James and she were alone and held all the answers, “he can decide?”

“Padfoot, he's ten!” James chastised him.

“I meant—when he’s older. He was always a clever lad.”

James shook his head.

“I don’t know. I guess we can wait. I just—I don’t know.”

“Speaking of that.” Lily cleared her throat. She stood up and fixed her jumper before taking, from the pocket of her skirt, the small vial Severus had given her. “Severus only came because I asked him to bring this.”

“Lily!” James shouted. Lily did shush him this time.

“So you’re giving him the potion? After what you’ve just said?” Sirius asked.

“As if I’d have so very little integrity,” she hissed. “ _Of course_ this is not for Harry, you dumb idiots!”

“Who, then?” James asked.

“Petunia,” Lily said. “When I go pick my parents up on Sunday I’ll make her drink it. And then I’ll give her a piece of my mind regarding how she treated Harry,” she vowed. James fiercely nodded when she returned the vial to her pocket.

“Will it work, with her being a Muggle?” Sirius asked.

“It should, and even if it doesn’t, Severus has assured me it won’t harm her.”

“It _ought to_ harm her,” Sirius muttered.

“Well, it won’t, so that’s settled.” Lily crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Okay,” Sirius sighed.

James sagged against the cushions.

“So now what, we call Harry in here and tell him everything is all right because Pads promised to behave?”

“What do you mean _behave_?” Sirius had the nerve to look affronted.

“He means either you pull your weight in here,” Lily clarified, with a cold glare in Sirius’ direction that he accordingly took with a diffident nod, “or you can kindly find your way towards the Floo and fuck off.”

“And what do we do about that crap with You-Know-Who’s soul pieces? Is Harry still one of them? Does he need to die _again_?”

Lily hated how defeated James sounded.

“I’m not sure,” she said,“but maybe he’s not one of those things anymore?”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me earlier he can’t talk to snakes now. That he used to, but—” Lily trailed off.

“Are you sure?”

“No, of course not!,” Lily snorted. “What was I supposed to say? Oh, Harry, dear, how wonderful, do you think you still have a fragment of this evil madman who killed Dad and I in another life inside of you, or you reckon it’s somehow gone, due to _convenient_ time-travel paradoxes? It’s not like Hogwarts sent him here with a handbook! Can you imagine? _For thyme-themed trauma, turn to page 394._ How very _helpful_ , James.”

James stood up, too.

“So what do you suggest?” he glowered. “What do you even want to go to Hogwarts for? They haven’t got any more answers than we do!”

Lily forced herself to regain her calmness. She _was_ right in this, she just knew. She wasn’t going to let the fact that she had very strong feelings about all of it ruin her thesis statement.

“That’s why we’re going to tell them what’s going to happen from now on,” she slowly enunciated.

“And what’s that?” Sirius asked.

“First of all, I refuse to let Harry come any closer than a yard to any Horcrux. Or people talking about Horcruxes, or just the _smell_ of Horcruxes. Until he’s at least fifteen,” she amended, because she wanted to protect her son but she didn’t intend to leave him in the dark forever. “And you and I are not going to go hunting them, and I’d prefer it if Sirius didn’t go either,” she added.

“Wasn’t going to,” Sirius growled.

“Good.”

“Yes,” James said. “Albus and Minerva can deal with that. Snape, too.”

“Yes,” Lily conceded. “Next issue: I’m not going back to Hogwarts. As a student, I mean.”

“Right,” James frowned. “Hadn’t thought about that. We still look fifteen, though. I don’t think we have our O.W.L.s?”

Lily rolled her eyes. Her husband—a genius at Transfiguration, an idiot at everything else.

“So we can take the exams, my darling. But I’m not going to be a prefect when Harry’s starting school. You do realise that would be weird.”

“Harry’s starting school?” Sirius daftly asked.

“He got his letter, didn’t he?”

“In another world!”

“I agree that he should go,” James said, at last supporting her in something. Lily prized him with a small smile. “If we’re providing a normal life for him—that’s as normal as it can get, right?”

“I guess,” Sirius said. Not that he had any real say in the matter—Lily was just informing him because he was Harry’s godfather, but as long as she was alive he wasn’t going to be deciding anything concerning Harry’s safety or happiness. And she planned to stick around for longer, this time.

A knock on the door startled the three of them.

“If you’re quite finished mending the world’s torn seams,” Euphemia said, without waiting for an invitation to come in, “please allow me to remind you children that, while my darling husband has many virtues, he _can_ get quite overwhelming when you get to suffer his presence alone for prolonged periods of time—trust me, I would know. Care to save Harry any time soon?”

“I’ll go,” Lily said, standing up. She took a second to settle her head before heading for the kitchen.

There, she found Harry sneezing into one of the cookies he was supposed to be sorting into a plate. Lily wrinkled her nose when Fleamont’s solution was to sanitize the afflicted cookie with a wisp of his wand.

“Here,” she said. Harry looked up at her and smiled while sniffling loudly. “It looks like it’s time for a new dose of your potions, my love,” she diagnosed, transfiguring the oven gloves he was wearing into a handkerchief. She rewarded his readiness at blowing his nose with a kiss to the cheek.

“Thanks,” he grinned. “Look—we’ve made cookies!”

“Should we bring them into the sitting room, then?”

“I’ll do that, dear. You bring the boy,” Fleamont said, gently floating the three plates full of cookies into the corridor.

“You heard that,” Lily said, gladly taking Harry into her arms. They made a pit stop at the study, where Harry obediently gulped his potion.

“Has Sirius left yet?” he asked in a very small voice.

Lily hugged him strongly before carrying him once more.

“No, but he’s promised to be on his best behaviour.” She couldn’t help the shadow of a smirk when she caught Harry’s pout. “He’d also like to talk to you.”

“Will you make me?” Harry asked, hiding then into the hollow of her neck.

“No,” Lily promised. “But I think you should listen.”

“Okay,” Harry sighed, relaxing completely in her hold. Lily felt the responsibility of such enormous trust he was placing in her in the heavy weight in her arms.

“Harry!” Sirius was the first one to jump to his feet when they entered the sitting room. Lily could feel him steel himself.

She let him into the ground.

“They’re delicious!” Fleamont exclaimed, with a cookie between his fingers. Harry sent a shy smile in his direction that Lily was sure Sirius was bound to be jealous of.

She felt the need to exchange the cold tea in her cup for a strong shot of firewhiskey.

“Harry, listen,” Sirius said, coming to take the seat closer to Harry, “I don’t want you to take that potion anymore. I know I’ve fucked up, but—”

“Language!” Euphemia cried. Lily agreed with them both.

“I wasn’t going to, anyway!” Harry lashed.

“But I’d like to have another chance with you!” Sirius continued, as if he’d never been interrupted. “I really, really love you and—”

“So what if I’m in Slytherin?” Harry asked.

Lily blinked, completely taken aback by the sudden turn. She glanced at Sirius, who was biting his lip. She groaned to herself.

“It won’t matter, sweetheart,” she said, but then a thought occurred to her. “Right, dear?” she eyed James, who looked so green he could’ve applied to a part-time position as a spinach.

“Well, as long as you don’t play Quidditch for Slytherin, then, I guess—”

Lily groaned out loud. Euphemia sent James a stinging hex.

“James, dear. We would’ve supported you, had you been sorted into Slytherin. So, please, do not embarrass this family and do be the father your son needs.”

Lily had to bite her tongue not to roar with laughter at James’ constipated expression. She only did it because she sort of liked how Euphemia had put him into his place, and because Harry still looked a bit upset. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right, mate,” Sirius surprisingly said, before she had the chance to say anything. “I promise.”

Lily smiled at him. Harry still wasn’t completely convinced, she could tell, but they were clearly not going to solve anything in just one day.

“You can play Quidditch for whichever house team you’re in, honey,” she assured her son.

Harry looked up at her. He was still so tiny and small—despite her having missed so very much, there was still room for growth in there. She could still be a part of his life.

“And if I’m bad at Quidditch?” he asked.

Lily’s heart seized.

“Then it’ll be okay, too. I love you, my dear, and I’ll love you no matter what,” she said.

Harry lunged at her and hugged, hard. A miracle, indeed—she was alive, and she had a son, and a job to do in raising him. She would not fail this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've finally reached the end!
> 
> To be completely honest, this started out as an outlet for my very late-coming feelings for Harry Potter and I never really thought I'd continue writing past the very first chapter. I didn't have a plot and, at first, this was going to be way more centered in Lily and Harry's relationship. Then, it kept growing and more characters kept coming, and plot lines appeared out of the blue and, somehow, I found myself having to knit all of that together in something vaguely resembling an ending that was at least a bit satisfying to read.
> 
> So, yeah. Thanks for stopping by and for sticking until now! I'm aware it's a bit of a weird story, at times confusing, and perhaps too ambitious! So I really appreciate all your kind words, the amazing response this has had til now and just every kudo out there. Really, thank you!
> 
> I'm not really planning on writing a sequel, at least for now. If anything, perhaps sometime I might come back for two or three extra scenes, but I can't promise anything and, if I ever do that, I'll just post it as a separate fic (so make sure to subscribe for that very hypothetical situation, if you're at least interested).
> 
> And that's all I had to say. Cheers! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated! ♥ You can also find me [ on tumblr ](https://hklnvgl.tumblr.com)  
> 


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